


The River That Met a Rock

by MySoCalledAngst



Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Im not even ashamed, References to Depression, Romance, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, and will it ever be smutty, someone be kind to this man for the love of god, we did it boys we’ve become clown lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-01-29 06:02:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 29,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21405364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MySoCalledAngst/pseuds/MySoCalledAngst
Summary: Somewhere in Gotham, the last surviving butterfly had flapped it’s broken wings, causing three murders to be prevented that night. You just couldn’t help yourself from stopping those men from beating on a clown.However, even the butterfly effect can only change so much about a destiny predetermined in stone.**Looking for the good stuff? Skip to Ch12 for the start of smut.**
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/You
Comments: 49
Kudos: 406





	1. Meet (Not So) Cute

**Author's Note:**

> this movie was fucking bomb and we all know it, so in my usual fashion i’m gonna fuck up the canon in all sorts of ways
> 
> let’s read, have some laughs, have some tears, love arthur fleck, and enjoy wherever this fic takes us

There was a nip in the air that night in Gotham, just chilled enough to see your breath dance and dissipate before your eyes. 

You didn’t mind, wrapping your sweater a little tighter around your frame as you made your way down the stairs to the subway. Each footfall echoed against stained tiles, a reminder that you were alone. It was comforting; a second set of footsteps meant trouble in this town. You knew that well, born and bred in Gotham’s seedy downtown area. Of course, it wasn’t seedy back then. You remember your youth fondly, playing outside until the streetlights came on without fear of men in white vans coming to snatch you up, never to be seen again. Garbage didn’t litter the streets and rats infected with diseases yet unknown to man hadn’t evolved. 

That seemed like only a handful of long years behind you, but you mourned the Gotham you once knew until the screech of the train grew louder from the tunnel. You pat your pockets for the fifth time that night; wallet, keys, and a small knife for protection safely tucked in. Carrying a bag was like a neon sign shouting that you wanted to be robbed. 

The compartment was empty, so you sprawled across the seats, stretching out your legs that ached from hours of retail work. It wasn’t glamorous, but what other job in town offered commission? No where, just the high end jewelry store in uptown. Rich husbands buying fat diamonds to apologize to their wives for fucking the secretary, desperate women of downtown attempting to unload their last good pieces of gold to pay rent, hoping the store would give them a better rate than the scummy pawnshops that littered the streets. The rich crowd kept you afloat, and you had gotten lucky, landing a rich client that came in once a month to drop an obscene amount of money. His sale alone kept your rent paid and the rest of the customers kept you fed. 

Truth be told, you were fortunate. Not many who lived in your end of town could afford luxurious items like a fully stocked fridge, take out food, the occasional beer. You should be happy, you should be grateful. Instead, you were bored, painfully so.

Monotony. Fuck, when had your life gotten so boring? Perhaps you were just boring. Something inside you craved excitement, a new experience to keep you on your toes. Excitement in Gotham seemed to only come in a negative form, but you wanted it anyway. A year of doing the same thing every week does that to a person. 

A woman hurriedly rushed passed your seat, her presence making you sit up straight. You shook your head, trying to get out of your own mind. 

But that’s when you heard it. 

Maniacal laughter. 

Your eyes fell on the door leading to the next metal box over, the sound crashing hard over the noises of the moving subway. 

Well, you had wanted excitement. Before you could reason with yourself, you felt your feet moving yourself closer to the door. Four figures came into focus, three dapperly dresses gentlemen and another man, more disheveled. You got closer to the window, and their faces became clearer. The disheveled man donned a full clown face, his mouth open wide as that wild laughter poured from him. It was strange, something about it made your stomach drop to your guts, but there was also something... carefree about it. Maybe that’s why he’s a clown, it sure sounded like the laughter of a jester. 

One of the gentlemen grabbed at the man’s headpiece, putting it on his head. He seemed to be laughing too. Perhaps they knew each other, reminiscing about their days at their respective workplaces. 

You were going to turn around, return to your monotonous trip home, but as the man began to dig through his bag, one of the other gentlemen grabbed it, tossing it to the third gentlemen who ran down the compartment. 

So, they weren’t gentlemen after all. You stood there as the not so gentleman with the green tufts of hair pulled the man to his feet and restrained him. The man tried to fight, but it was three on one. 

“What the fuck!?” Despite the men not being able to hear you from where you stood, you yelled anyway, running through the doors and into the arena with the three assholes and the poor clown. 

As you entered, the disheveled clown was punched. He fell to the floor with no finesse, looking utterly defeated as he laid there, allowing the men to start booting him all over his body. 

“That’s enough!” You screamed, jogging the short distance to the clown on the ground. The assholes looked shocked to see you, taking a few steps back as you put yourself between the man and his attackers. 

“Don’t be a killjoy, sugar.” One of the assholes smirked at you. It looked like he was going to take a step closer to you, or perhaps it was the motion of the train. Either way, you took no chances. 

For the first time since it’s purchase, your knife saw the opportunity of real combat. You finger flicked the trigger, blade exposed to the air, your knuckles white from how hard you gripped the blade. 

“Leave now.” You fronted strength and confidence, the adrenaline of the situation keeping you brave. 

The assholes laughed, but threw up their hands and walked off through the doors, leaving you alone with the broken clown. 

When you turned, he was still on the ground, in the same position as when you had entered. 

“Are you... are you okay?” You asked. 

The clown didn’t respond. 

“I don’t know why I asked that,” you ran a hand through your hair “, because how the fuck could you be. That looked real rough.”

His eyes drifted to you and you extended your hands. He flinched, turning his eyes back down. 

“Whoa, it’s alright. I’m not gonna hurt you, I just want to help you. Can you move?”

You waited patiently, watching the clown’s shaking hands lift himself to a sitting position. He groaned, a hand flying to his ribs. As he caught his breath, you retrieved his bag from across the train and set it on the seat closest to him. 

You extended your hand once more, cautiously. This time, he took it, wincing as he came to a standing position, then collapsed upon the seats. You took a seat beside him, examining his face for damage. Blood pooled from his nose and a small slice on his forehead, but you had to imagine more trauma lay beneath his flesh, manifested in fractured bones and a broken pride. 

You hummed softly to yourself, looking for something to clean up his face with. In the end, you resorted to your sweater sleeve. 

“I’m just gonna clean you up a bit.” You gave him a warning, slowly lifting your hand adorned in pale fabric to gently pat the blood from his face. 

“You, uh, got a name?” You asked, your sleeve soaked with someone else’s blood, but at least his face was clear. His paint was uneven across his face, soft pale flesh poking out in patches. 

“Arthur.” His voice sat at a whisper, his eyes unable or perhaps unwilling to meet your own. You gave him your name in return with a smile. 

Then he started laughing that unchained laughter, one hand on his torso and the other on his throat. You couldn’t help but rear back, eyebrows furrowed. You didn’t understand what was so funny about getting the shit kicked out of you, you’d be fucking bawling at this point. 

He removed his hand from his throat and waved it. You grew more confused as he rifled through his bag. Arthur tossed the card in your lap before turning his hand to his throat, a choking noise cutting through the laughter. 

Your lips moved as you read the card. Condition, laughter was not an indication of current emotion, kindly return card. 

“I didn’t even know that was a thing,” you placed the card in his lap “, but you learn something new everyday.” 

A few minutes passed before his laughter subsided, his breathing not quite returning to normal. Arthur rocked back and forth gently, clearly trying to soothe himself after the events of the night. His silence was definitely not lost on you. 

“It’s alright, if you’re not a talker, that is. I can keep talking if you want.” You smiled weakly at this miserable looking man named Arthur. 

“My stop is coming up next.” Arthur whispered once more, but for him it may as well have been a shout. 

“So is mine,” you looked around and scratched your head “, which way are you headed? Maybe we could keep each other company.” Arthur certainly looked like he needed a little bit of kindness in his day. It helped that it would keep you safe too, who was going to approach a person walking around with a guy who looked like a deranged clown?

“I’d l-like that.” Arthur spoke a little louder than before, nodding as he spoke.

Your body rocked as the train came to a halt. You stood and extended your arm, allowing Arthur to use you as support as you walked into the empty station. 

“I live a few blocks from here.” His voice was soft and tender. The address was familiar to you and you smiled at him. 

“The dilapidated building,” you nodded “, I live in the also dilapidated building just next to it. Glad you’re going my way.” 

Arthur offered a weak smile in return, his arm tightening around your own as you aided him up the subway steps and into the chilled night.


	2. Coffee is Good

As Arthur leaned on you for support, limping every other step, you took notice of how you could feel his bones through his clothing. You didn’t want to assume, but he seemed like a guy down on his luck. It was a description you would’ve previously said belonged to most of the folks of Gotham, but his face seemed to be the definition of unfortunate.

A few steps into the fresh air of night, you noticed Arthur was awfully quiet. You were worried that he had some sort of brain injury from the beating. You just wanted to get him talking, make sure all the lights were on and that he was going to be alright. 

“So, the clown getup, I’ve gotta ask-“ You started, but Arthur sighed. 

“I’m a party clown. Uh, was a party clown,” he looked away “, I just got fired.”

“Shit. You’re havin’ a pretty shit day then, huh?”

“You can say that again.”

“You’re havin’ a pretty shit day then, huh?” You repeated. He exhaled through his nose, one corner of his mouth turning up as you looked at him. 

You were glad to make him laugh. Even a clown could use a good laugh after a day like this. 

You walked in silence for a block, enjoying the night air. You pushed thoughts of how strange your evening had been, how out of place it felt to be aiding a stranger. This wasn’t a town where you made neighbourly chat about the weather with a stranger, it was a town where you looked the other way when someone was getting beat on. 

Your father had taught you better, to be better, to consider others and how they feel. You had ignored that advice for most of your life, following the status quo of dog eat dog. 

“Why did you help me?” Arthur asked, keeping his eyes forward. 

You were going to say anyone would have, but that was a lie. Your mouth was gaped open as you searched for the answer, but instead, you settled for the absolute truth. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted “, it just felt like something I just had to do.”

“Ah.”

“Not like had to as in obligated,” You backtracked and mentally kicked your own ass for being so obtuse “, like I just... I don’t know, my body reacted before my brain could think of the consequences.”

“Those men could have hurt you.”

“And they could’ve killed you too.”

In the few blocks left to your strip of the road, you learned enough about Arthur to say you were acquaintances. He told you about his sick mom, who he lived with and took care of. It was sweet to hear how much he loved her, it was a reminder that there were caring hearts in this world. Arthur told you about his love of comedy and his dream of being a stand up comedian. When he spoke of it, his voice grew confident and excited, it was enough to make you laugh, not at him, but for him.

“You can use your time to throw yourself into stand up, nothing is holding you back from achieving your goals now,” Arthur looked at you puzzled “, sorry. Just trying to find you a silver lining.”

“I just hadn’t thought of that.” He mumbled, his eyes looking down to his stuttering feet. 

The silence you shared with Arthur was awkward, much like the lanky man himself, but it didn’t bother you much. He was a weird guy, but the entire way home he hadn’t made a move to grope your ass or ask to come home with you, so that put him a step above a lot of the people you’ve encountered in your adult life in Gotham. 

You tried to think of conversational topics, but before you stumbled upon anything decent, you rounded the corner to your shared street. You eyed your building, but kept moving with Arthur in tow. 

“Isn’t that your-“ You cut him off, waving the hand that wasn’t keeping him supported. 

“I wouldn’t be a great hero if I didn’t make sure you get inside alright, would I?”

You felt his eyes on you, but you didn’t look back. 

The door to his building creaked and moaned as you pulled it open, Arthur freeing himself from your arm and limping ahead. Producing keys from his bag, he made his way to the mailboxes, opening one and shutting it after finding nothing had been delivered. 

“At least you didn’t get the dumb coupon for Ricky’s Reused and Recycled, I’ve gotten, like, twelve of them in the last week.” You attempted idle conversation, but Arthur shook his head, limping ahead of you to the elevator. 

“My mom is waiting for some mail,” Arthur hit the elevator button and turned to you, scratching his neck “, gotta check every day. Even Sunday, just helps her knowing I check.”

You couldn’t help the corners of your mouth twitching to a soft smile. 

“Sounds like you’re a good son, she’s lucky to have you.”

For the first time all night, you saw Arthur smile a real smile. It was good, he should be proud of being a good guy. 

The elevator arrived, the doors opening with a warped ding. Arthur stood for a moment, looking at you. You raised an eyebrow, the elevator doors shutting without Arthur inside. You looked at the closed doors, then back to Arthur. 

“You gonna be alright making it upstairs?” 

Arthur nodded and looked to his feet. A sudden, barking laugh emerged from his throat, his hands flying up to try and stop it. His face grew red and sweat began to form on his forehead and Arthur turned his body away from you. 

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright Arthur. Just try to breathe.” You didn’t know what to do to make it better, so you did what you could, and kept offering kind words until he managed to get breath back into his lungs. 

“I’m sorry, so sorry.” He mumbled, his bony hands covering his face. 

“Don’t be, you can’t help it, it’s just a condition.” You shrugged. It was odd, for sure, but you didn’t see what the big deal was. You could only imagine though, how many intolerant people he encountered each day; enough to need a card to explain himself. 

His cheeks were still beet red, so you shrugged once more.

“Seriously, everyone has their thing.” You weren’t sure if that came across right, but you knew what you meant. You had your own issues too, they just didn’t make themselves clear to the world around you.

“Thank you,” there was something endearing about his bashful demeanour “, for everything tonight.”

“Oh, it’s no worry.” You waved your hand, Arthur clearing his throat. 

“I should pay you for the sweater.” He pointed at the blood stained sleeve, but you shook your head. 

“It’s an old sweater anyway,” Arthur went to protest but you raised your hand “, seriously my last ex left it at my apartment. A rag is about all it’s good for, just threw it on because I didn’t want to do laundry.”

“Still, it doesn’t seem right to not pay you back.” He rubbed his arm, one leg shaking beneath him. 

“Well... I like coffee.” You said. 

Arthur stared at you, almost through you, the point whooshing far above his head. 

“You could take me for coffee,” you grin “, or at least come over and fix my awful coffee maker.” You laughed. 

“Okay, coffee is good.” He spoke softly, like back on the subway, as if he reverted to that meek version of himself. Or, a meeker version, anyway. 

“Well, you know where I live. Apartment C13. I’ve got tomorrow off so... hopefully I’ll see you?” You walked backwards to the door, watching Arthur hit the elevator button for the second and final time. 

“Tomorrow.” He repeated it, as if memorizing it, despite it being so simple.

“See you around, stranger,” You had turned to the door but turned back around “, or should I say friend?”

“I’ve never had a friend before.” Arthur said, very point blank. You laughed loudly. 

“You’re a funny guy, you should be a clown or something!” With a final smile, you turned to the door and made your exit. 

You had to admit, it wasn’t the most normal way to make a new friend, but god be damned if it wasn’t something exciting.


	3. Balanced Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, i’m giving you a little more personality and zest
> 
> bare with me while we work out your character

You closed your apartment door behind you, the weight of the evening hitting you as the lock clicked shut. 

You thought of the men on the subway, how you held your knife, how that situation could’ve gone the other way. Bile burned up your insides, rising to your throat. You barely made it to the sink in time, grotesque yellow acid spewing from your mouth. 

You swished your mouth clear of the taste with tap water, rubbing your face clear of the cold sweat. 

“Holy shit.” You sigh to yourself, peeling the sweater off your body. Your fingers grazed the blood stain, already turning a rich copper, and tossed it in the trash. 

You didn’t bother with tidiness tonight. You stripped out of your working garb, a trail of black clothing left in your wake, a breadcrumb trail into the bedroom. Grabbing your favourite cozy set of sweats, you sighed as the soft fleece slid along your skin.

Your bathroom was chilled, the window cracked just enough to let in the breeze. Your sink was lined with the basic amenities; tooth brush, tooth paste, empty prescription bottle, a half full bottle of white little pills, and a hair brush. You pushed your sleeves up your arms, eyes refusing to fall upon the flesh that covered them. 

Too much damage. It made you sick to remember. 

You made quick work of brushing your teeth, feeling a little more refreshed after all that happened. 

The streetlights reflected off your metal smoking case upon your bedroom vanity, the satisfying click soothing the anxiety that dared to creep up your brain. The familiar smell of marijuana filled your lungs; you took the half smoked joint and lit the end, needing a little boost to take the edge away from your neck. It didn’t take much, and it didn’t take long, for your body to become more relaxed. You stuffed out the roach, ready to turn in.

You returned to your living room and switched on the television. Reruns of this and reruns of that; it didn’t matter in the end, as you passed out only minutes later. 

In a quaint apartment, just one building over, Arthur entered his home in a daze. 

“Happy? Is that you?” His mother called out for him. 

“Yeah mom.”

“Any letters for me?”

“No mom.”

“That damn mailman,” she mumbled just loud enough for Arthur to hear “, and you’re later than usual, is everything okay?”

“Mom, I just met the most,” he walked to her bedroom door and stopped, looking to the ceiling “, the most... wonderful person.” Despite his aching body and broken heart, he smiled and laughed. 

“Don’t fall in love, Happy.” Penny’s face was cold and stern. Arthur cocked his head, then laughed at his mother’s advice. She wagged a finger at him, sitting up as much as she could in the comfort of her bed. 

“I mean it. You’re such a sensitive boy, you always were. I don’t want my happy boy to ever feel heartbreak.” There was something distant about her voice, a soft reminiscing tone that Arthur couldn’t quite pick up on. 

“Okay mom. But I made a friend.”

She looked relieved.

“Look at my Happy, making friends. You’re a late bloomer, that’s what I always said. I knew you were a social butterfly deep down.” With that, she fell off into her own world, eyes drifting closed. 

Arthur cleaned himself up with a shower, a swirling rainbow at his feet churning to an off brown, thoughts of the kind stranger flooding his mind. No one had ever been so relaxed around him, or bothered to look in his direction, let alone help him in a time of need. He repeated the name you had given him, over and over again, making sure he wouldn’t forget it. 

Arthur laughed at himself. He couldn’t forget anyone like that. 

You opened your eyes to an orange hue pouring into your living room and your door buzzer going off. 

You wiped the drool from your face, blinking your eyes to try and wake yourself. The buzzer went off once more. You looked to the clock and growled, pulling the sleeves of your top down and making sure you looked somewhat modest.

“It’s seven in the fuckin’ morning, who the hell died?” You groaned loudly as you whipped open the door. 

“Oh... I-I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t think about the time. I can come back.” 

You looked dead at the man’s face. You had never seen him before in your life, but his voice. Something familiar about that...

“Arthur?” You couldn’t help but gawk. Arthur looked behind him, then to either side, and then back to you. 

“I don’t see anyone else.” 

You blinked once, then twice, and finally you let out a laugh. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you without all the,” your hand circled your face “, you know.”

“I can come back later, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” He looked to the ground. 

“No, no, don’t worry about it. You’re here now.” You stepped aside, gesturing he come in. Arthur walked in hesitantly, slipping off his shoes at the door. 

He looked older, out of his costume. Bushy eyebrows and a scar along his upper lip, but the features suit him well, something about it fit his demeanour like a glove. His brown locks dared to slightly curve; if he let it grow out, they’d be full blown curls. 

Arthur stood just beyond the living room entrance, looking around at your decor, his weight shifting between his feet. You couldn’t help but watch him; there was something boyish about how he acted, the way his sweater was just a tad to small, his pants a smidge too short, and crisp white socks that sat unevenly around his ankles. He had a youthful charm about it and he clearly didn’t know it. 

“I wasn’t lying when I said my coffee maker is busted, can’t figure out what’s wrong with it for the life of me. Tried to find the manual, I can only find the German instructions.” You snorted at the absurdity of the whole thing and Arthur followed with that wild, carefree laugh of his. 

“Do you mind?” Arthur pointed to the kitchen, and you waved your hand, following him in. 

“My mom taught me how to make coffee the old fashion way. She always says, there ain’t nothin’ like the classics.” His voice flew up an octave as he imitated his mother, grabbing the kettle from your stove top and the can of fresh ground coffee. 

You let him do his thing, sitting at your kitchen table and watched him work. At some point, he asked you for some sort of clip, so you pointed to the bottom drawer just below him. 

“Binder clips in there.” You were barely awake, resorting to patting your own face to keep your eyes open. 

A few minutes passed and he was done, placing a cup of classically made coffee in front of you. The smell alone perked you up; you took a deep whiff and exhaled just as deep. 

“Oh yeah, that’s the good stuff,” you took a sip of the black beverage “, and it ain’t half bad either. Good job, Arthur.” You pat him on the shoulder, leaving the table just long enough to grab the cream and sugar. You placed it in the centre of the small table, reclaiming your seat just beside him. 

You were mesmerized as he put two heaping teaspoons of sugar into the mug, and enough cream to make it blonde. You raised your mug out to him, and when he didn’t take the hint, you grabbed his wrist and clinked your mugs together. 

“Cheers, my friend.” You grinned and took a huge gulp. Arthur followed suit, his eyes flicking between you and his hand that rested upon the table. His fingers began to tap against the surface in a rhythmic motion, his knee bouncing at a mile a minute. 

“You alright?” You asked, holding your mug with two hands. 

“Would you... I hate to ask, you have such a nice apartment.” He looked around at all your things before back to you, as if embarrassed for even being in your home.

You raised your eyebrows, egging him on to continue.

“Would it be okay if I...?” He produced a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and held it up. Arthur looked apologetic for even asking; you wondered if he was beating himself up in that head of his. 

You pretended to think on it. 

“Only if I can have one.”

He sighed of relief, opening the pack and letting you take one first. Arthur flicked the lighter, a firework of sparks bursting from the mouth, but no flame. Determined, Arthur pursed his lips, striking the lighter’s ignition with intent and purpose. More sparks spit out, burning strange little specks into your vision. 

You had enough of watching the man suffer, letting your hand glide along the shelf cut into your kitchen wall. A pack of matches and an ashtray met your hands, and with a skilled strike, two puffs of smoke filled the kitchen. Arthur took a deep drag, his anxious aura bubbling down from a boil.

“Nothing like a balanced breakfast!” You laughed, and so did Arthur. A brief moment of silence fell between you, but it was far less awkward than last night. You took a moment to enjoy it, the familiar taste of cigarette smoke filling your mouth. 

You had to admit, there was something about Arthur. There was a level of comfort, despite barely knowing the guy. He was unassuming, not dangerous, or at least he seemed like he wasn’t dangerous. You got creepier vibes from some of the men that come into your work. Maybe you were just lonely. A quick mental inventory reminded you that this was one of the only people you’ve talked to outside of work in the last year or so. You were never one for socializing. Self isolation was more your game. 

Maybe that’s why you felt comfortable with this strange and unusual man. Most people would say you were strange and unusual. The only difference was that it took someone getting to know you before the felt the aversion to your company. Arthur wore his weirdness all over his body.

“So what’s got you up at the ass crack of dawn?” 

“I have to go clean out my locker at my old job... then I have therapy.”

“Oh shit,” You stood and left the room, retrieving your half full bottle of pills from the bathroom “, you reminded me.”

You didn’t think it was a big deal, taking medication in front of others. You rarely had to do it, you haven’t had someone else in your apartment at med time anyway, but it never bothered you to do so. But the way Arthur watched you pop two pills into your mouth and chase them with a swig of coffee, you furrowed your brow. You felt judged.

“What?” You couldn’t help but be mildly irritated, he looked at you like you had grown another head.

“I... uh, I’ve never seen someone...”

“Take medication?” You snorted, but you kept your eyes serious. You remembered why you never let anyone into your apartment, why you kept people at arms length.

“No, I’ve seen people do that. I’ve never seen someone be so casual about it. I take medication too. Like, a lot of medication.” Arthur looked apologetic, but you realized that maybe his saddened face always looked apologetic and miserable. You did feel bad though, for assuming this soft spoken man thought the worst of you, even for a moment. 

He had a neurological condition, of course he took medication. For the second time since meeting Arthur, you mentally berated yourself for putting your foot in your mouth.

“I need it to live,” you put it in the most simple terms and looked away from his sad face “, sorry, I didn’t mean to get so serious... you’re a comedian, why don’t you lighten the mood?” You shifted the subject, trying to get the smile back onto his face. Instead, it grew red and he scratched his face. 

“I left my joke book at home.”

“You’ve gotta remember one, give it a go.” You urged him on. Arthur seemed to consider this, then laughed that laugh of his. 

“Promise you won’t laugh?”

“It’s a joke, it’d be bad if I didn’t laugh, right?” 

Arthur laughed again, wagging a finger at you. Then he cleared his throat, his eyes looking up to the cracks in your ceiling, his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth. Suddenly he gasped, sitting up straight and looking you dead in the eye. 

“Why can’t you play poker in the jungle?”

“I’m not sure Arthur, why can’t I play poker in the jungle?”

“Too many cheetahs.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. The joke was alright, but his delivery is what got you. Arthur’s smile could light up a room as you laughed at his corny joke, then finished your cup of coffee with a final gulp. 

You had to admit, it was nice having a little company. You had never considered yourself to be really lonely, but the presence of another made you value the time you shared. You talked small, what the weather of the day would be like, you asked about his mom, and what you would be doing for the day.

“Well apparently I’ve gotta buy a new coffee maker. I loved the throwback, but I also love technology doing things for me.” You set the two empty mugs in your sink, and when you turned, arthur had lit up another smoke. 

You went to speak again, but your stomach made an obscene growl. 

“You should eat something.” Arthur turned, a look of concern on his face. 

“Yeah, I’ll probably swing by a diner or something. Lots of good ones in Gotham,” then you were struck by an idea “, I mean, if you aren’t sick of me, you can come along. We’re both headed out anyway.”

“Breakfast? With you?” Arthur scratched his neck. 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind, people give me weird looks when I eat alone. Just let me throw myself together, sit tight.”

You weren’t sure what compelled you to keep him in your company, but you were glad he had agreed. 

Arthur was unsure as well, why someone so kind hearted and beautiful would want to keep him in their company either.


	4. Reunited and It Feels so Bad

A short trip on the crowded subway took the pair of you to the heart of Gotham. Close to all the shops, close to Arthur’s work, and most importantly, close to the diner with the best waffles in town. 

The delicious scent of breakfast greeted you as you held the door open for your friend. You took in a rich breath and sighed, leading Arthur to your favourite booth by the front window, giving you the sights of garbage riddled streets. The waitress was a homely woman, sliding two menus on the table before promising to be back for the drink order.

You looked over the double sided laminated menu, unsure why you even bothered. You got the same thing every time and today was no different.

“Anything caught your eye?” You ask Arthur, but he didn’t respond. He was deep in thought, finger dragging over the menu as his lips moved softly to the rhythmic reading of countless meals. 

“I’ve never been here before,” he confided “, I don’t know what’s good.”

“I usually get the double decker waffles, they put this chocolate spread and bananas in the middle, so good. But they do a mean classic breakfast too!” You pointed to it on his menu; two eggs, a heaping pile of hash browns, bacon, and toast. 

It was tempting, but you could hear the Belgium waffle batter calling your name. 

Arthur fiddled with his menu, flipping it over a few times. Without looking at the waitress who appeared as if from no where, he ordered another coffee, and you did the same. 

The service was quick, it was one of the things you liked about this place. You told the woman your elaborate order, extra chocolate, extra syrup, and a side of bacon to boot because why the hell not. 

“And for you, hun?” The waitress looked to Arthur, smacking her gum. 

“Some toast please.”

The homely waitress noted his order and whisked off with the menus. You gave Arthur a dead pan look, making him stop mixing cream into his coffee. 

“I order enough for a family and you get toast.”

“Mhmm.”

“You’re makin’ me look fat, Arthur!” You teased; Arthur laughed and shook his head. 

“You look great, not fat.” He clarified, unable to look at you, a soft smile creeping at the edge of his lips. 

“Flattery will get you everywhere, good sir.”

You spent the next twenty minutes catching him up on your life. How your parents were no longer with you, your job at Glitter & Gold, and the ways you spent your spare time. Arthur was a good listener, allowing you all the room to speak as he sipped away at his sweet coffee. You couldn’t help but feel self conscious as you talked about your boring life. You realized you really were one note; never went out, never went dancing, never went to a club.

“That’s about it. I watch movies, I go to work... that’s about that.” You finished your ramblings, clearing your throat. 

“I’m going to be doing stand up at Pogo’s. I’d like it if you came sometime.” Arthur grinned in a lopsided way, eyes flickering to you for just a moment, before looking down to his hands. 

Alright. That was pretty cute, you wouldn’t lie. 

“I’d love to Arthur, just let me know when.”

The waitress had good timing, swinging in with plates precariously perched on her arms. A big plate stacked with fluffy waffles and a smaller plate with a perfectly not-too-crisp bacon; and the smallest plate of two pieces of toast for your companion. 

You dug in straight away, pouring syrup right from the glass onto your waffles and cutting into them. Arthur toyed with a diagonally cut slice of bread, taking a small nibble from the corner. His lanky form, the way you had felt his ribs poke into you the other night. Concern danced in your abdomen for the frail man. 

“I could use your help eating this, Arthur. At least have a bite.” You cut him a moderate piece of your waffle, impaling it alongside a slice of banana and a scoop of chocolate spread. You held the fork out to him but he shook his hand. 

“I don’t have cooties.” You leaned over some more, the fork a mere foot from his lips. 

Arthur looked around, cautious of any eyes that dared to shoot in his direction. He made it quick, leaning over and taking the bite within his mouth. Chocolate smeared along the side of his lips, Arthur’s tongue darting to wipe it off. He mumbled something about it being very good. 

You laughed at the sight, tossing him your napkin. 

Just as you grew more comfortable with one another, the door to the diner flew open. You peaked your head over the booth, naturally curious at the noise. The three men that sauntered in weren’t strangers to you. 

It was the assholes from last night. They were laughing loudly, all eyes in the diner sneering in their direction. They were in the wrong end of town, this wasn’t a safe place for the rich. They were the antithesis of revered, a petty reminder of the haves and have nots. 

The way the men claimed a table in the centre of the building, loud voices recounting likely fake stories about women from the bars the night before, made you angry. They had forgotten all about the man they had assaulted in cold blood. Cocky, demanding, born with silver spoons and fully paid for college educations. 

Arthur looked, his form shrinking, until he noticed your angered expression. 

“Don’t be angry.” He sighed, looking out the window to the other side, trying to ignore the men. 

“I can’t help it.” 

You stared a hole in the side of one of the men’s heads, if only looks could kill. The blond one finally looked your way, smirking and whispering away to his friends. They all looked your way at once, then began laughing loudly. 

“Good to see you remember me, assholes.” You spoke loud enough for the men to hear, loud enough that all the folks in the diner stopped to stare. 

“Fuck off, clown fucker.”

Visions danced in your head; grabbing the steak knife the waitress forgot to clear when you hadn’t ordered steak and eggs, marching over there and burying it within their skulls. Running and jumping onto one of them, fists beating into those ‘winning’ smiles until their teeth scattered around you. But you couldn’t do those things, you figured you wouldn’t fair well in Black Gate. 

“How about the fact you BEAT THE SHIT out of an INNOCENT MAN?” You shouted, unable to contain yourself. 

The fellow have nots in the diner eyed the men with spite. You hadn’t noticed how Arthur seemed to straighten up at the mumbling of agreement to your sudden outrage. The rich men’s smiles fell as they began to lose the public vote. You were happy to make them sweat. 

“A few wall street boys, untouchable little fuckers. Where do you get off?” The rage poured from every orifice, your fists balled tight to your sides as you stood. 

“Jesus, take a pill!” One of the men yelled back, suddenly trying to be quiet and blend in. 

“I did and you’re still pissing me off!”

Arthur laughed from behind you and that regained the men’s attention. They recognized that laugh, you’d bet your savings on it. The men stood, disregarding whatever appetite they had. The man who was not tall, nor short, threw a twenty dollar bill in your face. 

“Buy some god damn tampons, bitch.”

You spit on the crumpled bill and sat back down. As they left, a surge of shame shot through your nerves. You hadn’t meant to have an outburst. You looked to Arthur to apologize, his eyes fixated on the men piling into a car, simply watching. 

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to draw so much attention-“ You began, stumbling over your words. Arthur laughed wildly, shaking his head. 

“That... was something else.”

“Yeah, when I get mad sometimes I just can’t... help myself.” You rubbed your eyes, missing how Arthur’s gaze followed the vehicle, memorizing the numbers on the plate, dedicating them to memory. 

“If you can’t help it, you shouldn’t apologize.” You knew he had been referencing your own words, how you comforted him after that awful laugh attack in his apartment foyer. 

“Plus,” he finished his second mug of coffee of the day “, I thought it was sort of... wild. Fun.”

You couldn’t put into words how appreciative you felt. Few had seen your wild outbursts of rage; none of them had been so kind or understanding. Arthur, despite being in your life for less than twelve hours, felt like an old friend. That was rare in Gotham. 

As you finished your breakfast, managing to get Arthur to take a few more bites off your plate, there was an impending sense of doom. In your usual fashion, you were wondering when the shoe would drop. When would this man, albeit strange, find you far too strange for his taste? 

You couldn’t have known that Arthur was wondering the same thing. 

The waitress brought over one bill, sliding it to the centre of the table after lifting the cleared plates from the booth. You grabbed it, taking a couple bills out of your wallet and placing them on the table. Arthur looked, wide eyed, as you did. His face grew that deep shade of red; you were surprised he wasn’t always like that, always embarrassed. 

“The woman isn’t supposed to pay.” He whispered, brows furrowed, spelling the concern all over his face. 

“That’s terribly closed minded of you,” you snorted as you stood, pulling your jacket around your body “, you can get the next one.”

Arthur looked confused, and then nodded with a grin. No one had ever asked him to go to breakfast once, let alone for a second time. 

“Come on, let’s blow this joint.” You walked out of the diner, Arthur close behind.


	5. There is No But

“You got jumped by some kids and you got in trouble for it?” You scoffed, listening to Arthur recount his past week, and you simply couldn’t believe it. 

Did everyone... did everything collaborate to make this man’s life miserable?

“I should of just told the guy in the store, not go after ‘em,” Arthur shrugged, a slight limp in his step “, and then he said I wasn’t funny enough to be a clown.”

“Should’ve punched your boss, that’s what you should’ve done.” Arthur laughed at that. 

“It’s not too late,” Arthur stopped in his tracks “, I could punch and run after I clear out my locker.” 

This time, you laughed. Arthur started walking again, but it wasn’t long enough, the road to his work and the road to the shops intersecting. You looked at him, toe tapping against the cracked concrete. 

“This is where we part, Arth.” You meant it as a fact, wondering why your voice had a down turned inflection, seemly betraying your indifferent mind. Arthur nodded, eyes looking down his direction, then back to you. 

“I had a great time this morning, it was nice to have some company.” You pat his arm, his body freezing at the contact. His hand slid up, clasping around where you had touched him. 

Arthur shifted his weight. 

“But?” He added. His already miserable face seemed to grow more miserable.

“But nothing, I had a great time. Period.” You smiled, gently at this man who looked so sad. You had to wonder, how many times had he heard that simple but tacked on after a compliment. 

“Oh... I had a great time, too.”

You stood in silence for a moment, the bustling of the streets fading beyond your ears, as if it was just you and Arthur. You felt compelled to go with him, you wanted to tell off that boss of his, and deflect the beacon that radiated off Arthur that somehow beckoned every rude person in the city. 

“I’m off to find a coffee maker, so next time you come over, we won’t have to pretend we’re in the twenties.”

No sounds came from him, but his lips softly repeated ‘next time’. Arthur considered, then nodded slowly. 

“You could come over and help me set it up.” It had left your mouth before you processed it, wanting to slap yourself for sounding so desperate. Help me set it up? Really? It was a fucking coffee maker. You really were lonely, you really were alone, but something about Arthur’s presence kept your own impending misery at bay. Maybe you were using him, you did that, using others bad times to deflect from your own-

You snapped yourself from the runaway train of thought. Get out of your head. You only just noticed Arthur was speaking. 

“- it’s the night I watch Murray Franklin with my mom. It’s our favourite show.”

Had he been talking about tonight? You feigned like you knew, nodding along. 

“I’ll have to meet this mom of yours.” You had flashes of this strange man who loved his mom so dearly, keeping the corpse of his mother somewhere inside his run down apartment. He looked like the Norman Bates type, even if he didn’t give you those vibes. 

No, Norman Bates had a more conventional charm. Arthur wore his quirks on the outside; certainly he was too strange externally to be so strange internally. Even if he did, you don’t think you would care. You never minded if your life was on the line.

“She would like that, she loves having new people to tell her stories to.” 

Then Arthur looked at you. No... he wasn’t just looking, he saw you. His eyes burrowed deep into your soul, taking in every detail of your being. It was the most eye contact you had seen from him. You wondered what he was thinking; you had been so concerned with making sure he knew you enjoyed his presence, you hadn’t considered that he didn’t enjoy yours. Was he simply being polite? 

Unbeknownst to you, thoughts of kissing you ran through his mind. The scenario played like a movie; Arthur suddenly found a brave thread and pulled, grabbing you and dipping you, placing his lips upon yours. He would thread his hands in your hair and your hands would clasp along his back. You would both forget about your respective tasks and he would pull you into the nearest alley. You would moan his name, your tone laced with the pure essence of sugar. The garbage and rats wouldn’t bother you, lifting and pinning you against the wall, his thin frame strong enough to hold you close in this fantasy. 

But it was just a fantasy. He was snapped back to reality as you said goodbye and turned your back to him. He watched you walk away, your face turning to look back at him with a happy expression. All to often, when people looked back, it was a look of disgust. 

He looked down to his hands, the license plate of a car scrawled onto his flesh. It had bled, the ink seeping into the lines of his skin, but he could still read them. You had been so busy with your waffles, you hadn’t noticed how he penned them into his palm after the three men had left. You made him feel strong. Strong enough to face the heartbreaking task of leaving his favourite job for good. 

Strong enough to start fighting back, even. 

He remembered your outburst at his attackers in the diner when Randal had feigned sadness at his sacking. Arthur embodied your strength when he called out the fat man for giving him the gun that got him fired. He felt the way your fists grew tight when you yelled, punching the ancient time clock until it smashed to jagged bits on the ground. 

And he thought of you as he danced down the steps and kicked the door open to the next chapter of his life. 

You were thinking of Arthur, too. As you looked for a simple coffee maker, turning up your nose at the ones with fancy buttons or latte attachments, you stumbled upon a mug branded with Murray Franklin’s logo. Without thought, you placed it in your basket, hoping your new friend would like his gift.


	6. The Maker, the Mug, & the Murders

You placed your hands on your hips, admiring your new coffee maker, clean of all factory residue and brewing one fine cuppa. You had wrapped Arthur’s gift too, white tissue paper fanned out from the top of a blue bag you had hidden in your closet. You knew he’d love it, and appreciate it; the steep price tag was worth it. 

You did your usual evening routine. You changed into the same pajamas as yesterday and sunk into your couch. You flicked around the television, settling on an old VHS, one you had seen a million time’s before.

You shut it off half way through, determined to make it to your bed tonight. You stripped off unnecessary articles; you were a hot sleeper. 

You felt exhausted from all the interaction, crawling between the sheets, the soft material caressing your bare flesh. 

On the couch you sat. A man stalked you, walking a circle around your couch. You couldn’t help your shaking lungs, eyes unable to tear away from that slim frame. The world around you faded to black, leaving you utterly alone with him and at his wicked mercy. 

Then he sauntered towards you, kneeling between your open legs. He ripped the clothing from your body, grabbing your hips, pulling your most sensitive ares to his mouth. A skilled tongue worked you as you tugged on his hair, grinding your hips against his face. His name escaped your lips. 

Arthur. 

You awoke with a moaning gasp, your racing heart slowing as you steadied yourself in reality. You rubbed your eyes, and inhaled sharply, shaking yourself away from that odd dream. 

Dreams had never carried much weight, you knew this. They were wildly irrational, often a warped image of deep subconscious thoughts, events of the day, events of a life, and random thoughts and fears. You had just spent a lot of time with the new presence in your life, that’s all. 

You squinted at your watch which rested upon the bedside table; two in the morning? You were painfully awake, only spending a few minutes tossing and turning before retiring to the living room. You surfed the channels, hoping for something to stand out. 

You settled on a rerun of a live jazz band concert, enjoying the soft serenade, until a man appeared. Red filled your living room, ‘BREAKING NEWS’ running across your screen. 

“Three men of the Wayne Enterprise force were found dead this evening.”

You leaned forward, putting up the volume just a few notches. 

“The cause of death at this time is classified as a murder. Each man was shot multiple times. Police have little in terms of answers, but call to the public to inform them if they have any information.”

The screen switched to a shot of the scene, pre-recorded, if the shade of the sky had any indication against your black and white screen. 

“The suspect who perpetrated this crime was wearing a clown mask. We urge anyone who encounters any persons with this mask,” the artists rendering flashed on the screen, and angry clown face appearing before your eyes “, call Gotham Police or emergency services.”

Then, pictures of the men were displayed. 

Oh shit. 

Oh fucking shit. 

It had to be the men you had yelled at... in a public place... with witnesses. 

“I’m so getting questioned.” You rubbed your temples. 

You hadn’t given much thought to the clown identity. After all, Arthur had just been fired. There was no way he’d don that disguise just to get revenge. No, he was too sweet, too soft for such an angry act. You didn’t need to know him all your life to see that the man didn’t have a violent bone in his body; he hadn’t even tried to fight back that night on the subway. The thought had barely passed your mind, more concerned about the police rolling up to your door. 

But you were wrong. 

Arthur had shot those men in the cover of night, having spent his afternoon stalking the Wayne Enterprise building. He was an observant man; the bumper sticker of their car pool vehicle shouting their identities clear as day right next to the license plate. A golden WE was hard to miss when you were looking for it. 

He stalked his prey and caught them as they staggered from the bars. It was almost too easy. His face was thick with paint; assuming the strength that came with it. The had made the mistake of coming to close to the alleyway, like shooting fish in a barrel. 

He sprinted all the way home. Arthur expected to vomit, he expected to feel bad. Instead, he only laughed.

Arthur didn’t stop at his building, he kept going until your door was in his face. He wanted to knock; how badly did he ever want to knock, but he refrained. 

You would know. You were smart, far smarter than him. To show up now, hot and bothered, wanting to take you for his own... far too obvious. 

He settled for pressing himself against your door, ear pressed to the wooden slab covered in chipped paint. Arthur closed his eyes, imagining the scene in his most ideal expectations. 

Arthur would knock and you would open it, surprised in the best of ways to see him standing there. Pleasantries would go unsaid, his lips smashing to yours. The pair of you wouldn’t make it to the bedroom, you’d lie there on the foyer floor and let him ravish you. Then you’d flip the script, taking control and making him feel pleasure unknown to even the most sexually skilled.

Instead, Arthur savoured the dream. His mind roamed through the possibilities as he slunk back to his apartment, his thoughts focused on you as he pleasured himself in the steaming shower.


	7. Meet Mother

Your back creaked as you sat up from the couch, the news having swapped from dark and grim, to the light and pun filled morning crew. You stretched, a series of cracks emitting from your not-so-old bones. 

Last day before getting back to work; better enjoy it. 

You cleaned yourself up, popping your daily pill, and brushing you unkempt hair into a manageable style. A little sleek, the faintest signs of grease peaking through at the root. You tossed it up, securing it with a couple of loops of the hair elastic, not wanting to bother with showering. You didn’t have the energy. 

At that thought, you took another pill. You probably shouldn’t, the doctor had warned about increasing your dosage, but you knew your brain. You knew what you needed. You thought you knew. 

You settled on one of the only clean outfits in your closet, thin black leggings and an unimportant plain shirt. You tossed on a jacket and grabbed the wrapped mug from your counter before skipping out of the apartment, locking your door for safety. 

You didn’t have to endure the cool air of the impending afternoon for long, thankful you had made a new friend so close. 

You made your way up the stairs of his apartment, something making your heart thump. 

“He’s gonna love it, stop worrying.” You mumbled to yourself, doing a convincing job connecting your nerves to the gift you bore. That wasn’t it, of course, but you would never make that connection until far later. 

You stood, face to door, hesitating a moment before knocking firmly. Stumbling and foot steps came from behind the door. It opened, stopping with an offset click, the door chain keeping the habitants secure. 

You smiled at the peering face before the door shut again. Metal slid against one another, and finally the door opened fully. 

Arthur said your name with a smile upon his mopey face. Then his eyes grew, looking down upon his bare chest. 

You had been looking too.

You knew he was thinner than the average man... but he looked boarder line emaciated. His collar bones concave; you swore if you filled them with water, you would swim in them. His ribs could be counted one by one, and you could point out which ones has sustained damage to boot. That patch of hair that trailed from his belly button into his pajamas...

But he was gone before you could get a good mental picture, throwing on a grey shirt that had been thrown over the back of his couch. 

“C-come in.” He managed to stutter, pushing away the sheets on the couch and tossing the pillow to the empty chair. 

You couldn’t help but wonder if he slept on the couch all the time. You looked around as you came in, seeing it was a one bedroom in a similar layout to yours. He lived with his mother after all. You didn’t mind too much, better than Arthur sharing a bed with the old lady. 

The second thought that occurred was the scent. Air freshener and cigarettes, a dash of cologne for spice. You smelled that same scent sitting across from him at the diner, and back a few nights ago on the subway. Something about the sensory combination soothes your worries about the little bag in your hand. 

“I brought you something,” you handed the bag out to Arthur as you took a seat next to him “, I saw it and I thought of you.”

Arthur looked at the bag, hands pressed against his thighs that dared to bounce in anxiety. You did the heavy lifting for him, placing the gift in his lap. With a waving hand, you urged him to open it, grinning ear to ear as his slender hand finally moved away the tissue paper. 

Arthur’s motions stopped for a moment and you watched his rich green eyes stare at his hands. With a gentle grasp, he cradled the mug, using two firm hands to keep it steady. 

His mouth moved to speak, but no words emerge. Arthur slowly lets his eyes travel to you, then quickly back down to the mug. A good gift given would make anyone’s heart sing, but the way Arthur Fleck held this ceramic mug in his hands made your heart burst into an entire musical. 

Arthur placed the mug on the table, a hand running through his fluffy hair. He cleared his throat, bony hand sitting between his collar bones. Laughter erupted against his wishes, his body turning away from you, as if to shield you from the horrific reality of his personality. Leaning closer to him, you placed a warm hand on his shoulder, not moving away even as he flinched. 

“It’s alright, Arthur. Let it out.” You hoped you were helping, your fingers gently massaging his tense shoulder. Your hand slid across his back until your arm draped along his thin frame. 

“Just breathe, in through the nose and out through the mouth,” you whispered “, that’s it. In... and out.”

Cackling turned to laughs, laughs turned to giggles. Finally, he choked a final time, a rabid and rough exhale leaving his lips. 

“You feel alright?” You rubbed small circles against his back. 

“Yes. I’m sorry, it’s just,” he paused to pick up the mug “, I’ve never... no one has ever gotten me a gift just because.”

Arthur was so soft, holding the mug to his chest. His eyes glossed over, shimmering with tears that dared to fall. You hooked your arm around him tighter, but pacing a hand on his knee. Arthur froze, head snapping to look at you. 

“Are you alright?” You asked once more. 

Arthur nodded, stroking the mug as if it were a small kitten. 

“Thank you.” It was a whisper, but it was an honest whisper. The corners of your mouth flicked up, giving him a good squeeze with your arm before letting him loose. 

“S’no problem.”

“Really, you’ve done so much for me since we met.”

“Really,” you imitated his tone “, it’s no problem.”

There was something in his eyes that made you feel deeply appreciated. In the way he raised his eyebrows, a ghosting expression of happiness flirting upon his face. 

It was gone when you sat back on the couch, to your original position nearly a foot away from Arthur. He looked at you as if you had slapped him in the face... but then you remembered, he always looked like that.

The air hung heavy between you, Arthur’s breathe crashing against the void of silence. He grabbed the red pack of cigarettes from his coffee table, passing it to you and letting your fingers grasp an orange filter before taking one of his own. A true gentleman, he held the lighter to you before himself, and you shared a quiet moment. 

Your mind hated silence, it allowed it far too much room to roam. Instead of its usual path down bitter self criticism and worries of work, it wandered to a shirtless Arthur. That little patch of hair...

“Who is this?” No matter how soft the woman’s voice, you jumped. Ash from your cigarette fell onto your pants, singing and fizzling as fast as it fell. 

“Hey mom.” Arthur introduced you to Penny, shaking her hand as he did. She didn’t seem too enthused by the intrusion, her eyes sceptical of your presence.

“Be careful with the pretty ones, Happy.” Penny mumbled as she shuffled back to the bedroom. 

“Sorry.” Arthur looked down. 

“Hey, at least she said I was pretty,” you snorted “, so. Happy, huh?” The irony wasn’t lost on you. 

“Yeah,” Arthur lightened up “, she always said I was a happy kid. That I’m here to spread joy and laughter.”

And at that, you laughed. 

“You’re doing a great job, Arth.”


	8. The Commentary of Arthur Fleck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at what point is a slow burn just too slow i’m too impatient for the romance in my own damn story

Arthur felt electricity in his veins, sitting with only one couch cushion between himself and you. He could feel his heart beating in his toes, violent thumping that dared to quake his exterior, which was barely put together in the first place. He wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry, he wanted to scream from the rooftops. 

He hadn’t known how someone so kind and beautiful could want to be his friend. But that’s what you had done; made him your friend. Arthur had never known kindness, nothing that was so true and full such as yours. No one wanted to spend five minutes with him, let alone two days in a row. Yet, there you sat, half a pack of cigarettes down while you chit chat the day away. 

Arthur was wholly, unequivocally, in love with you. 

He hadn’t known what being in love felt like, but he knew it when he laid his eyes on that mug that bore Murray’s trademarked logo. 

You were speaking, and he was listening like the polite man he was, but only half so. Arthur stopped counting how many times his mind had wandered to thoughts of you. 

In his mind, Arthur was smooth. Closing the distance between you, he would plant his hands on each side of your face and kiss your breath away. You would be surprised, but your eyes would flutter closed and your mouth would open for him. Your hands would clutch his thin shirt, pulling it off so you could feel more of him. He would lean forward until you were beneath him on that dingy, smokey couch and wrap your stunning legs around his waist. 

Arthur wondered how you sounded when you moaned. Would it be like the girls he saw in movies, loud and dominating? Or would you whisper for him? Would he take your breath away, leaving your mouth hung open in a silent scream of ecstasy?

He wondered what your bedroom looked like, if it was feminine or masculine. Did you have knick knacks on the shelf and dirty magazines under your mattress? He imagined what it would be like to share a closet, you meticulously sorting it until he had one half and you had the other. Visions of making breakfast at three in the morning when you both couldn’t sleep, sharing sad moments, and living life as the two of you saw fit. How you would wrap your arms around him from behind as he got himself ready in the bathroom mirror and kiss his spine. Would you call him handsome, or baby, or honey when he walked through the door?

He wanted it all so desperately. 

But someone so kind and beautiful had made him your friend. 

Friend. That’s all. 

Arthur could be satisfied with friend. He would dream of more, you would forever be the muse in the dark of night when his hands would slip into his pants, but he would be content with friend. 

“- so, what do you think about it?” You asked, taking a drag from your cigarette. 

“What?” Arthur blinked rapidly before leaning in. At some point, he stopped half listening.

“About the murders of those dudes, the guys from the diner.”

Something Arthur wouldn’t let slip until you knew the deepest parts of him; he was a phenomenal liar. 

“I saw that on the news this morning. Would it be bad... if I said,” Arthur paused as he searched for the perfect turn of phrase “, that maybe I don’t mind?” 

“Jesus no, they were awful to you. I don’t feel all that bad either, no loss to me. Just don’t need the cops poking around because of the incident.”

Arthur kept his smile curbed, giddy on the inside that you agreed with him. 

“Anyway,” you continued “, a clown disguise is an awful weird one. You think everyone would notice a clown running around.”

You were right on that, but you hadn’t taken into account who was under the ‘mask’ as the media had claimed it. 

No one ever noticed Arthur Fleck, wild ensemble or not. 

Arthur was glad only you had turned out to be no one.


	9. Kissing Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this chapter like a million fucking times and i don’t even know if i like it but i can’t rewrite it again so here we go

The murdered men were long forgotten, lost in the weeds of your conversation with Arthur. He was surprisingly easy to talk to; open to most topics with insights you would have never considered. He was open minded, he made you laugh, and most of all he made you feel comfortable. 

He shared his cigarettes and offered you coffee or tea or water numerous times. It was clear Arthur didn’t receive many guests. Mother Fleck was still in her bedroom; Arthur explained she slept often, her age and sickness having caught up with her. You didn’t mind, spending time with Arthur had become your new favourite thing. 

You had taken up a game of twenty questions to learn more about him. You quickly fired through the easy inquiries; favourite colour, movie, song, pass time. He liked green, anything comedic, That’s Life, and making people laugh or watching the Murray show. 

“Hmm,” you tapped your chin “, how about when you had your first kiss.”

Arthur grew red, looking anywhere other than your eyes. He didn’t need to tell you, you could tell he had never been kissed. But still, he mumbled that he had never done anything like that, and you smiled softly. 

“Nothin’ to be ashamed of, Arthur.”

“But I’m too old to-“

“Ah, don’t worry about what’s expected. It’ll happen for you, I know it.” You comforted Arthur, his soft grin telling you he appreciated your kindness. 

“Plus,” you continued “, kissing doesn’t really live up to all the hype. You aren’t missing out on much.”

“I still think it would be nice. The guys at work always used to make fun of me. Should’ve lied about it when they asked.” He remembered the men from work with a bitter taste in his mouth, Thinking on his only other friend Gary for just a moment before flicking to back to you. 

Your mind wandered back to your teen years, practicing kissing with your best friend in the basement of your dad’s house. You realized Arthur had never had those fumbling moments with a friend that cared for him. For the third time since meeting Arthur, your mouth started talking before you could process it. 

“Hey, if you want, I’ll help you cross it off your list. I’ll be your first kiss and the next one won’t be so intense.”

Arthur grew wide eyed. 

“We don’t have too if it makes you uncomfortable, but I-“

“Yes, I’d like that.” Arthur couldn’t get the words out fast enough. You watched his hands rub against his thighs, unsure if he was soothing his leg that began to bounce or wiping the sweat that dripped down his palms.

Straightening up, you pivoted yourself to be square with Arthur. 

“Like I said, it’s a lot of expected excitement for just touching lips, but I’ll show you an easy technique that’ll make all the ladies swoon for you.” His face was still red and scarlet, but he listened to your every word, eyes trained on your lips. You stood and Arthur followed suit, shifting his weight between his feet. 

“So here’s what you wanna do, one hand on her hip,” when he didn’t obey, you moved his hand onto your hip for him “, and the other caressing her neck.”

Arthur got the hint that time, his clammy hand sitting along the curve of your neck. 

“Now, you want to lean into it, but not too much. You want to give her room to come to you.”

Arthur leaned a few degrees, but not nearly enough. You put your hand between your bodies and curled your fingers forward. Arthur leaned in some more, keeping your finger going until he was just a foot from your face. You put your hand in the universal symbol for stop. 

“Now, she can do the rest of the work. When I lean in, put your hand on the side of my face, alright?”

Arthur nodded quickly, swallowing audibly. 

“You ready?” Again, Arthur nodded. 

His inexperience was endearing. You gave him a nod. 

You leaned in, feeling his hand glide up to caress your cheek. Closing your eyes came intuitively, placing your lips to his in a tame, chaste kiss. 

Okay, it was time to pull away. You thought this sentence to yourself once after five seconds. Then ten seconds. Finally, as you reached the fifteen second mark, the slender hand that rested upon your hip slid to your back. His finger tips softly pressed into your spine, as if he was checking you were of reality. 

Your hands came to rest upon his chest. With a tender touch, you pulled back from him, needing a second to get air into your lungs. There had been nothing but innocence in how your lips had touched, but it took all your mental strength to stop your face from growing hot. You cleared your throat, taking a step back from him as you shrugged. 

“So that’s that. Feel any different?”

Arthur stared you down. Something in the air shifted that moment, you felt it as his head cocked to the left. Was it a laugh attack? You went to touch his arm, tell him that it was alright if he just breathed with you. 

Suddenly, his hands were clasping your face. His mouth crashed to yours, terribly unskilled with his teeth fumbling along your lip. Arthur commanded you with his hands, his towering form demanded you stood on your toes for him. Finally, your head grasped what was happening, your hands clutching onto his back. 

It felt good to be kissed. You couldn’t remember how long it had been since you experienced this kind of intimacy. It was simply surprising that it was coming from Arthur Fleck, a man who you had only known to be timid and well kept. You had only known him for a few days, of course, but the way his hands gripped at you made you feel like you had known him a lifetime. His lips felt familiar, someplace like home. 

“Arthur.” You huffed when Arthur stopped to readjust, trying time wrap your brain around what had happened. 

Something shifted once again. Any fire he had was snuffed, taking a step back from you and running his hands through his hair. The man who had kissed you was gone, reverted back to shy old Arthur. 

“Oh... I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t... oh god, I didn’t,” he hiccuped our a laugh “, mean to take advantage-ha-” Arthur grew increasingly upset, chuckles breaking his genuine apology. 

“You didn’t, you didn’t do anything bad.” You reached your hands out to him, helm but Arthur flinched back. 

“You didn’t say it was okay. You’re just so nice and it felt so good to kiss you, I just couldn’t-” Arthur was distraught, but you hushed him. He sat on the couch, head in his hands, his breath uneven as laughter poured from his chest. 

“It’s okay, Arthur, please don’t be upset. It was good, that’s why I didn’t stop you.” You sat back upon the couch, wanting to be close to him, but needing to respect his distance. 

“It just... came... over me.” Arthur stuttered between giggles. 

“It’s alright. We can pretend it never happened, if that makes you feel better.”

Arthur’s laughter died in his throat with a choke. He coughed into his elbow and you leaned towards him, wanting Arthur to know you were there for him. He pulled his feet into the couch, long arms wrapping around his bent legs. 

“Really Arthur, don’t be so serious. I... did you enjoy your first kiss?” You kept it about his feelings, pushing the sensation that your legs were gelatinous deep down inside. 

Arthur sheepishly nodded. 

“How about we take this show on the road? Go to your old work and make out in the middle of the floor, show those guys who made fun of you what for.”

Arthur laughed, taking a long breath. He lit up another cigarette, side eyeing you the whole time. 

“What do you call a blonde in the freezer?” He asked. 

“I don’t know, what?”

“Her parents named her Claire. We should probably keep calling her that, she was supposed to graduate tomorrow.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. As awful as the joke was, the way Arthur delivered the punchline with such a straight face was a direct line to your funny bone. The awkward aura had already been long forgotten as he reamed off a couple more dark jokes, earning your laughter ever time. 

“I have therapy today,” Arthur sighed, looking at the clock “, I should get going.”

“I’ll walk you out.” You wanted to slap yourself; of course you’d walk him out, why would he want you in his apartment if he wasn’t there?

It only took him a moment to get dressed, corduroy pants that sat a little too short on his long legs and pulling that brown sweater around his frame. You travelled down the elevator and out into the Gotham air, thick with pollution, but still possessing a certain charm. 

Arthur walked you to the stoop of your apartment building, as the gentleman he was. You had turned to open the door, but his soft voice stopped you. 

“Do you think... maybe we could kiss again?” So innocent and pure were his eyes, thick eyebrows raised ever so slightly as he waited for your response. 

You chuckled and nodded, the step to the apartment door giving you the height you needed to lean to him and place a fleeting peak on his lips. Arthur didn’t press to far into it, simply enjoying how you felt against him, his eyes staying closed long after you took a step back. 

You entered the door, taking a few steps before you looked back at him through the glass webbed with wire. 

Arthur was dancing as he walked away.


	10. The Commentary of You

You hadn’t known how long you sat on your couch, running a finger along your lips. It was supposed to be a friendly kiss, one person helping another, but you felt a wave of heat crash into you when you remembered how his hands grasped your cheeks, your ears firmly between his sprawled fingers. 

It had just been so long. You had forgotten what another’s lips felt like, what it felt like to be desired in a primal way. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt worthy of someone’s affections, self hatred and bitter doubts of your ability to love played a soundtrack to your running train of thought. You had thought you were broken; no one drew your interest the way Arthur had. 

You were never coy. The lack of serotonin in your brain had led you down impulsive paths, putting out on the first date then never answering their calls, but you never minded that. You didn’t grow attached, that wasn’t who you were. One night stands and brief interactions lacking an emotional connection was just more appealing. Perhaps, it’s what you felt you deserved, what you were worthy of. 

But you were attached to Arthur Fleck now. Your fate had been written when you stepped into his life on the subway. You never thought on the moments you experienced with men or women, you moved on with your life, but you thought about how he kissed you. 

Lacking in experience, but the potential talent was there. Arthur Fleck would be a sweet lover, a giver, and cuddler. Your fingers left your lips, falling to your wrist. You traced the thick, discoloured, jagged scar that fell down your left wrist. You were always a fan of symmetry, your other hand tracing down a similar scar on your right wrist. 

Long healed, but the scars were dark and angry, as they would never forget. They told you how you weren’t deserving of someone so pure and innocent, you would jade them, drag them down to your level. He wasn’t a perfectly normal man, a neurological condition that made him an outcast. You didn’t think you’d be so drawn to him if he didn’t have those laughing fits; you always loved the strange and unusual. 

You were the kid that had pet tarantulas and dressed all in black. The kid that would be the first to throw a punch when someone said you were too weird to be friends with. As you grew older, your spirit became weak. A fighter turned into a complacent husk of what a person should be. The whispers of your strangeness seeped into your soul, and when the didn’t stop, you wanted to make them. Your only friend in high school was the one who tried to keep you going, but they moved away before your final half of school. You had decided you didn’t want to put up with the inside jokes made about you, the painful ignoring of your existence. 

The same kids who laughed at you were the ones that fronted sadness the most when they heard the news of your attempt. It made you more bitter, even more turned off from human interaction than you already were. Everyone seemed so... fake. Just as quick as the news had spread, it had died, like you wish you did. You went on to be ignored, to be laughed at, and when you were free of the adolescent high school chains, you carried that treatment with you. 

As an adult, you kept to yourself. If no one knew who you were, they couldn’t judge you on fact. If you were recounting your life to another, you’d become embarrassed at this point; pained to admit that Arthur was the first real connection you had made in your twenties. 

You stood and went to your bedroom, opening your little smoke box. You lit up a joint, pushing your mental commentary to the little prison cell in your mind. 

“It doesn’t do well to dwell, little one.” You repeated the words your father had said to you, the morning after in the hospital of your attempt on your life. 

Cracking the window, you smoked your troubles away. The sun was setting over the smoggy horizon. Half way through your joint, you felt yourself feel lighter. More euphoric, better equipped to handle the barrage of emotions rolling around in your skull. 

Your mind shifted back to Arthur. You hoped he made it to his appointment alright. You wondered if he was telling his therapist about you. You wished he would come over after, not wanting to be alone with yourself for any longer than you needed too.


	11. Someone is Watching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the smut is coming you filthy clown sluts that i can’t even judge because i’m a filthy clown slut too, better get ur bodies ready

Your journey to work had been odd.

Your flesh crawled, you kept looking back. The horrifying sensation that someone was watching you just wouldn’t go away. You pat your pocket, soothed by the telltale outline of a knife. Still, you felt watched. Not gawked at, but as if someone was stalking you, lurking just beyond your eyesight. When you looked, however, you saw nothing but strangers on their own missions in life, not paying attention to the world around them. 

You could simply feel eyes on you, from the moment you left your apartment. Not even did you feel concealed as you pulled your jacket tight to your frame. 

When you arrived at work, you still couldn’t shake it. You worked with your clients, up selling the extra karat here and a flawless diamond there. The rich were easily persuaded, clearly ignoring the small movement that had churned over night. 

Thomas Wayne’s speech, referring to the poor and the disadvantaged as nothing by clowns, was on the break room television. You made a mental note of it; something to discuss with Arthur. None of your fellow employees would share the sentiment, all so far up the riches asses in attempts to be one. 

No matter to you, as long as they kept you fed, you’d keep your political opinions to yourself here. You didn’t come to work to make friends, even foregoing letting them in on how the hairs on the back of your neck stood up when you were on the sales floor. Eyes were pointed in your direction from somewhere, but no one stood out as a creep when you really looked. 

Eight gruelling hours of fake smiles and faux flirtation stole everything from your pool of energy. For brief moments, you had forgot about the sensation of eyes burrowing into you, but on the ride home is was more apparent than ever. 

‘This damn city is making me  
crazy... crazier? Crazy none the less.’ You thought to yourself, crossing your arms a little tighter over you as you rocked and swayed with the subway. 

You reached your apartment without incident, barely having enough time to even change your shirt before a knock came tapping from your door. 

You answered as you pulled the fabric over your head, both surprised and somehow not surprised to see Arthur standing outside your door.

“Hey, come on in. I’m just winding down.”

Arthur was staring, not at your eyes or lips or legs. He was staring at your arms, the fabric on the long sleeves bunched up to your elbows. One half of a pair, your scar screamed for attention, and you couldn’t blame him for complying. They were eye catching, never letting you forget. 

Fuck. 

You slid the fabric down and put your arms behind your back. The damage had been done. 

“How was your day?” You asked, voice testing at a scratch. 

“It was boring,” Arthur cleared his throat “, how was work?”

“It was... boring.”

A beat rested between the two of you. 

“We don’t have to talk about it.” Arthur looked away as he spoke. 

“I would really like that.” 

And like that, it was settled. Arthur had been one of the first to let it go so easily. Once people saw your damaged flesh, they threw you looks of pity and talked to you like you were as fragile and a house of cards. It would be like Arthur to graze over the subject; he was damaged too, respectful of every aspect of your existence.

“Your mom alright by herself?” You asked to keep the subject on a permanent redirection, leading Arthur to the kitchen to make him a customary cup of coffee. 

“She likes to nap before dinner.”

“Mmm, me too.” You shared a laugh and Arthur followed you back to the living room as the beans brewed. You noticed he seemed to follow you as you moved about, like a lost puppy looking for someone to take him home. 

“So what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you at my humble abode?” You hammed up your voice, setting a steaming mug in front of him. 

He played around with his mug before speaking, seeming to muster up some courage. 

“Open mic night is at Pogo’s in a few days... do you think, if it’s not in the way of your plans, you would come? I understand if you can’t, you probably have better things to do-”

“I’d love to Arthur. Maybe swing for a burger after?”

He looked relieved, a red hue melting over his features as you mentioned food. 

“Like a date?” In that moment, his voice was innocent, but then his eyes grew. His words had spoken what should’ve stayed within his mind. 

“A date? When did you get so bold?” You were amused in how he seemed to curl on himself, stumbling over himself as he tried to back peddle. Arthur mumbled something about a friend date, he hears people do that, he’d like to get in on it.

“Oh, so I’m not date material?” You teased, but it went over Arthur’s head. He began to sputter, hands waving. 

“No, no, no, you are date material, you’re so beautiful, but it’s like a royal queen marrying a stable hand, it doesn’t make sense.” Arthur began to laugh as he tried to speak, and you threw up your hands, guilty you had caused him so much discomfort. 

Maybe that’s why you you said what was leaving your lips; guilt. 

“I’m just teasing, Arth. If you want it to be a date, we can make it a date. You just gotta tell me now because it’ll change what I decide to wear.”

Arthur was star struck. His nervous mumbling had never worked out for him like this before. 

“What would you wear if it wasn’t a date?” You could see his cogs turning, slapping himself for the most irrelevant question he could’ve asked. 

“Jeans, shirt, jacket.” You shrugged. 

“And... if it’s a... you know.”

You laughed. 

“Something slinky, something slinkier underneath.”

Arthur wasn’t even sure he knew what that meant, but he liked the sound of it. But his face fell once more. 

“Do you want it to be a date too?” Arthur emphasized his words, wanting to ensure you were just as excited to go on a date as the vice versa. 

“I do.”

You didn’t need to think about it, you definitely wanted to. His attention was soft, gentle and romantic, he wasn’t hard on your eyes, and you were drawn to his lack of experience. Arthur had yet to adopt bad relationship habits; he could be a perfect partner if you gave him the right hints. He was a good guy so far, and if it didn’t work out, you hadn’t known each other long enough that it wouldn’t be a big loss to cut him off. The cost benefit analysis worked in your favour. 

Arthur was in awe of you. He didn’t think he would ever understand why someone like you would want someone like him, but he wasn’t going to ask, leaving you to think and change your mind. The rest of the time he kicked around in your apartment, he had his boyish smile on his rugged features. 

“Then, it’s a date.” Arthur said; he had always heard the expression and was excited to use it. 

“It is indeed, you’re penned into my calendar.” You nodded, offering him the reassurance you hadn’t known he needed. 

You chatted about your day, keeping only how you felt watched to yourself. Arthur made for easy conversation, growing more relaxed within your home as the minutes ticked on. The time for him to go was too soon though, him citing how he had to make his mother something to eat, but Arthur stopped at the door as you stood with it open. 

He faced you, leaning over you with his tall frame and placing a kiss on your cheek. 

“Not tomorrow, but the day after.” He reminded you once more about his slot at Pogos and you nodded, giving him a grin of your own. 

“Not tomorrow, the day after.” You repeated.

“I’ll come get you, then we can go to the club.”

“Sounds like a plan.” 

Arthur left one more kiss on your check before practically skipping down the hallway.


	12. Hot First Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we did it boys, i lasted 12 chapters before caving directly into the nasty smut and we are JUST getting started

You were happy for your date with Arthur to arrive. You were keen to blow his mind, dressing to the nines. A trusty little black dress that fit in all the right places, hugging your curves for perfect accentuation of your shape. Classic pumps, your legs lengthening as you stepped into them, with freshly shaved legs just for him. Your lips were painted red and your eyes in a classic smoky look. 

As you had promised, you wore something slinkier than your little black dress just underneath. Evergreen lace caressed your flesh and a little pad in the bra for a little extra cleavage. You hated to brag, but you looked like a bomb shell. Very rarely did you find an excuse to clean up, but it felt nice to see yourself this way. 

You placed the orange filter of a cigarette to your lips, your lipstick lining around it. As the smoke filled your lungs, you took a moment to collect yourself, having only noticed the nerves that began to bundle in your stomach. 

“It’s Arthur, just relax. He’s more nervous than you are.” You said out loud, taking another long drag of your smoke. A couple firm knocks at your door signalled it was time, and when you opened the door, there stood Arthur with a lone red rose wrapped with ribbon. 

His mouth fell open at the sight of you, his eyes which would usually be shy and static, dragged up and down your form. Arthur tried to get some moisture into his mouth, but fell short, unable to even sputter a compliment in your direction. 

“Speechless, huh? I’ll take it as a compliment.” You smirked at him, taking the rose from his hand. 

Arthur followed you in and stood in the foyer, watching you fill a thin vase with some water and popping the rose inside, leaving it on the very centre of your table. 

“You ready? You asked, throwing on your jacket and putting the essentials in your pockets. 

Arthur nodded, eyes still traveling along your body. 

“Might want to find your tongue, you have a show to do.” 

With that, you hooked your arm under Arthur’s and led the awestruck man out into Gotham. 

“I’m a little nervous.” Arthur confided in you as you made your way down the road. 

“You’re going to be amazing, Arth.”

“And you’ll be there? In the front row?”

“As close as I can get.”

Arthur’s thumb glided back and forth along your bicep. He felt you shiver as a gust of wind bellowed through the alleyways of buildings, stopping only for a moment to wrap his sweater around you. His trademark scent surrounded you, making you feel as warm on the inside as you did now on the outside. 

You couldn’t help but steal glances up at him; you noted how Arthur was straining to keep his eyes forward. Had you never noticed his jaw? Maybe it was just his thin frame, but it looked so cut and chiseled. You could nuzzle right in there and leave a dark hickey right at the curvature of his skin. 

Arthur had noticed you, noticing him. He looked down at you, confusion written on his features, but you leaned up and kissed his cheek. You relished how he blushed, scratching at his head, trying to find something to say to you. You didn’t mind his silence though, simply sliding your arm from the hooked grasp and clasping his hand within your own. 

Pogo’s sign, bright yellow neon, glimmered against the paling sky. You felt Arthur huff as you approached, his hand pulling you to a stop just at the side of the building. He fumbled for a cigarette, passing one to you, and held the lighter to the end. He was nervous, he would usually light you first. 

Before he could light yours, you took a step towards him. Your shoes have you just enough of a height advantage, just able to press the end of your smoke to his lit cherry, lighting your own. It made Arthur laugh once he plucked the cigarette from his lips with nicotine stained fingers. 

“I’m really glad you were able to come.” Arthur had said this several times, but he never sounded insincere. 

“Me too.” You smiled. 

Arthur stood closer, bringing his hand up to touch your shoulder, then dropping it to his side. Unsure of where to place his hand, he raised it a few more times before you took mercy in him. You threw your arm around his waist and stood hip to hip, finishing your respective smokes in a comfortable silence. 

Entering Pogo’s, You stood at the junction between backstage and the main room. 

“Break a leg, that’s what they say in show biz, right?”

“Thank you.”

An awkward moment passed. Fuck it, you thought to yourself, closing the short distance between yourself and Arthur, planting a soft kiss upon his lips. 

“Go get ‘em, tiger.” You left him in a mild daze, slinking off into the dining area, getting a seat just off to the side of the stage. 

You ignored the other acts, not caring for the boring routines and standard delivery of every comic. It wasn’t until you heard Arthur’s name, spat with mild distaste, did you perk up. 

As he walked on, Arthur met your eyes, and you offered a look of reassurance. He approached the mic, with a beat of silence, before bursting into his uncontrollable laugh. 

You clutched you’re chest as it wouldn’t slow down, trying to block out the negging and whispers coming from behind you. He fumbled through his jokes, getting a few pity laughs from those around you. It was like they never even gave him a chance. You knew he was funny, it was just his eccentric behaviour that stopped people from seeing that. 

You fled your seat as soon as Arthur left the stage, running to meet him in the seclusion of the back halls. You practically ran around, nearly bumping directly into the man in question.

Arthur’s face looked indifferent. 

“How’d you feel?” You asked, wanting to keep it light in case he caved in on himself like a dying star. 

“Not bad for my first time, right?” Arthur’s indifferent face grew into something you hadn’t seen before. Happiness? Elation? Something positive, at least, and that made you happy too. You were glad he didn’t take the reception to harsh; no comic was a ringer on their first try, right?

“Let’s get out of here, I’m starving.”

It didn’t take long to find a quaint little burger joint along the comedy and strip clubs. You sat yourselves as the sign commanded, picking a booth far off in the corner. You perused the menu, getting yourself a burger and a big plate of fries to share with your companion. Arthur neglected to get anything for himself, but you wouldn’t let him refuse when you slid the extra large order of fries to the centre of the table. While you ate, Arthur divulged the material that didn’t make it into his act; dark jokes, morbid anecdotes, all of which made you laugh. 

“I always heard dates were awkward.” Arthur said, nibbling on an extra long fry. 

“They can be, if you’re going out with someone who isn’t a good match.”

“I don’t feel awkward with you.” It was his way of saying he felt like you were a good match; the perfect match. 

“Me too.”

You kicked off one of your pumps, taking your foot and running it along his ankle. He laughed when he felt it, a tickling sensation clasping around where you were teasing him.

“What are you doing?” Arthur laughed, his disposition lighter than you had ever seen it. 

“Footsie, can’t grope you in the middle of a restaurant can I?” 

That got another laugh from Arthur, his eyes peering down at your bare foot that climbed, and rested upon his thigh. With a tentative touch, he rested a clammy hand upon your ankle.

“Am I a good date partner?” Arthur asked, looking at the food between you, rather than your eyes. 

“A great one. Comfortable, kind. Maybe a little shy, but that comes with experience.”

“Shy?”

“Yeah, shy. It’s not a bad thing,” you explained “, but I’ve been giving strong signals I like you. Don’t be afraid to initiate holding my hand or anything.”

Arthur nodded, taking mental notes on everything you were saying.

When the bill was placed on the table, Arthur was quick to move. Only glancing at the total, he placed a couple of crumpled bills upon it. You wanted to roll your eyes, but you couldn’t help but laugh at his accomplished look. Arthur stood and held out his hand, taking your words from earlier to heart.

Arthur came back to your apartment, looking more uncomfortable than ever on your couch. You watched his legs bounce and hands wring one another. 

“What’s on your mind, big guy?” You sat down, placing a bottle of water in front of him. 

“How do dates usually end?” Arthur asked, suddenly. 

You hadn’t thought about his lack of knowledge on the subject. Experience, sure, but you hadn’t considered a man wouldn’t know about the best way a date could possibly end; the way you were hoping this date would end. 

“Well, that depends on how well the date went. Sometimes it ends after dinner and sometimes it ends with a kiss at the door.”

“We didn’t do those things.”

“No, and that’s because... sometimes a date ends later. After... well...” You weren’t necessarily shy, but it was this particular conversation with Arthur, so innocent he didn’t even pick up on the signals you had been throwing him throughout the evening. 

Arthur just kept looking at you, his eyebrows in a questioning posture. 

“Sex, it ends in sex. Or something sexual.” You felt your cheeks grow red as you watched Arthur go red. 

“You want to... with me?” His voice sat below a whisper, but you heard him clear as day. 

“I do. I would, but it seems like a lot, very fast.”

“I’ve never done anything like that.”

“And that’s okay Arthur. If you wanted,” you place a hand on his bouncing thigh and felt it relax under your touch “, we can start slow.”

“Huh?”

“I’m going to teach you how to make out.” You laughed as he grew wide eyed and grow more red than he already was. Still, Arthur nodded, pushing the anxiety of trying something new he felt down inside of him. 

You went for it, throwing a leg over his lap. Taking his hands within your own, you placed them on your hips, then rested your arms on his shoulders. You already felt a stirring underneath you, a hardening mass making itself known between your legs. 

“Making out is a lot like kissing, just a little more hot and heavy. Just follow my lead, you’ll do great.”

Arthur didn’t have time to answer, your lips falling to his in a touch soft as silk. He quickly got the grasp of fleeting touches and soft moans as you maneuvered over him. Arthur grew comfortable, giving you the footing required to start having some fun. 

Sucking gently, you took his bottom lip between your teeth. With feather light poise, you nibbled, drawing a satisfying noise from the man beneath you. In his lap, you felt he was growing harder, letting out an involuntary gasp as you felt just how big he was under those oversized pants. At your sudden intake of air, Arthur leaned back and raised his hands up along your back. 

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” 

“I’m okay, I’m enjoying myself.”

With reassurance under his belt, it was Arthur who reinitiated. His lips crashed into yours, his eagerness only fuelling the fire inside of you. You yourself grew more confident as he expressed more and more interest, letting your tongue take over. 

You grind your hips against him, using the moan as the ticket you need to let your tongue slip past his lips. The taste of cigarettes was intoxicating as you coaxed his tongue to life. Arthur did as you said and followed your lead; obviously lacking the talent, but the heart was there. He did his best to mimic how your tongue moved in his mouth, gliding the two muscles together in a tantric dance. Arthur let his hands grip, scratching your flesh from over your dress and you wished to strip down right at that moment, but you didn’t want to overstimulate him. You settled for pulling the hem of your dress to your waist, green lace catching Arthur’s eye as he pulled back and stared down. A thin layer of lace and his pants were the only thing that sat between full contact, making Arthur breathe heavier. 

You let him enjoy the view, his eyes daring to close as he watched you grind along his length that now tented his pants. Roaming hands settled on your hips, his nails digging into your flesh, aiding your motions as you slid down to his base and all the way back up to his head. Leaning in, you took his earlobe within your mouth, earning another broken moan from Arthur. 

“You’re so big,” you whisper hot into his ear “, I’ll be dreaming tonight, what you feel like inside of me.” 

Arthur groaned, his head felling into the crook of your neck. You kissed the top of his head, feeling a light layer of sweat that was beginning to build. With a gentle hand at the base of Arthur’s neck, you pushed his head back and connected your lips once more. Your hips moved in a steady rhythm, Arthur becoming more undone by the second. He did his best, thrusting his tongue into your mouth as he held you for dear life. Hands snaked down, you grabbed at the waist of his pants with skillful fingers, only moving so much until the head of his cock sat free, the rest concealed by corduroy. He took a sharp inhale between clenched teeth as he felt the cool air of your apartment against his most sensitive area. 

You couldn’t help but steal a peak. He was oozing precum, so much it began to pool on his stomach. Your mouth watered, having to push down your instinctive desire to fall to your knees and lick him clean. Instead, you kept up your pace, your hips gliding up and you felt his hot head against your panties. 

“Oh! Ohhh, f-uck.” Arthur gasped, his head falling back as you focused your attention on his exposed flesh. 

You knew he could feel how wet you were through the flimsy material, his head coming to sit perfectly between your lips that spread so easily for him. You may as well have been wearing no panties at all, Arthur was writhing as he felt his head become soaked from you. When his eyes opened to look at you, they were watery, glistening against the pale light seeping in from the street. 

“Does that feel good?” You knew the answer, but you asked anyway. 

“Yes... yes fuck yes fucking shit!” Arthur couldn’t control himself, his head swimming as you slid yourself down, back to the clothed section of his length. Cool air flushed the head of his cock and he whimpered, tears falling down his face. 

“So good...” Arthur practically sobbed. You took his face within your hands and wiped away his tears. 

You bit his lower lip, a moaning sob pouring from Arthur. His hands gripped at you, everywhere, unable to stay in one place as he desperately kissed you. You kept up the roll of your hips, your own desire building to a need that couldn’t be ignored. Still, you pushed it down; this was about Arthur. 

So what if it had gone a little further than just making out? This was the most tame way you had ever ended a date in your adult life and you were still more turned on than you had ever been before. Arthur could slide all the way home if he asked, but instead he ran all the way to third and stood there. You were pissed that you had pushed full sex off the table, even though it was for Arthur’s own interest, so you had to enjoy what you were getting. 

You had to make him cum for you, you knew that much if nothing else. 

“You’re so beautiful, so good, so... oh god, please!” Arthur wasn’t sure what he was asking for, but he begged anyway. You knew he was begging to cum and you weren’t going to disappoint. 

You sealed the deal by pulling your panties to the side, touching his head to your core directly. You took it one step further despite the line you had drawn, moving yourself up and letting his swollen head press to your entrance. His hands grew tighter, his arms sneaking around your back and pulling you flush against him. 

You weren’t sure how long it had been since you played ‘just the tip’, but you sat down, groaning as your need was chipped away. You wanted to undo his pants and take him all inside of you, you wanted to fuck him senseless until you made him cum at least four times before reaching your own release. But you restrained yourself, the head of his cock barely breaching you when it had all come undone. 

For Arthur, it was over. He gasped and cried out, tears falling from his eyes as he let himself unload inside of you. You could have cum right there, seeing Arthur’s eyes roll back as he leaned against the back of the couch, his hot seed shooting in thick rope after rope. You felt one shot inside of you, then took yourself off of him, and let him cum against you. Your head cranked down, your mouth watering at your core covered in thick cum, and a whimper escaping you as a long trail seeped out of your hole. Gotta love birth control, the little copper piece sitting in your body keeping you protected. 

His one hand was still holding you, the other fell against his chest. 

“I’m sorry-“ You cut him off with a kiss. 

“Don’t be sorry, that’s what I wanted to happen.”

“You’re so good.” He sighed, the hand leaving his chest and running through his hair. You leaned to kiss him once but, but he suddenly grew tense, looking up at you with a sad expression. 

“You! What about you?” Arthur’s sweet eyes looked up to you, but you shook your head. 

“That was all for you, baby.”

Arthur stared at you. No one, other than his mother, had ever called him something other than his name... well, a positive nickname, other than his name, anyway. 

“I... want to make you... feel good.” Arthur searched for confidence, but found none, his words broken and jumbled and unsure of themselves. 

“Tonight, you can dream about me taking care of it myself. God knows I will as soon as you leave.” You nibbled on his ear and he groaned once more. 

“At least let me clean you up.” Arthur offered, and you accepted. You had expected him to lean over to the coffee table and grab a tissue from the box. Instead he turned his body, letting you fall on your back against the couch. 

“What are you-Oh FUCK.”

Arthur was lapping himself off of you. You could barely believe your eyes, you had never had a man clean his own seed off your body with his mouth before. It was like he had become someone else; a man who didn’t know the concept of shy, a bold and demanding man. You couldn’t say you hated it as his tongue cleaned up his mess. 

The sight alone made another rush of juices coat your heat. His tongue worked your clit, making sure you were nice and clean, you didn’t even think he had any idea how god damn good he was at this. 

“Where d-did you learn-AH-this!?” 

He ignored you, leaving your throbbing clit to its own devices as he licked lower, cleaning your tight hole of his juices. Two fingers pressed inside of you and you folded like a house of cards, whimpering his name and groping your breasts through your dress. 

He removed his fingers and sucked them clean, sitting up while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

It had been far too short, but for those twenty seconds, he left you seeing stars. 

“Was that... was that okay?” Arthur had come back, the dominant man gone, as he watched you search for your breath. 

You could only nod, pulling him down on top of you, kissing him with all the pent up aggression of the evening. You tasted yourself mixed with him and it was enough to make your clit throb harder. But that was as far as it could go tonight. You spent another thirty minutes on the couch, Arthur’s weight on top of you while you made out like naughty teenagers. 

“I have to go,” he mumbled between kisses “, have to make sure mom is good.” 

Well, nothing killed the mood like the mentioning of a parent. You kissed him one more time, before sitting up with the aid of your arms that felt like limp noodles. 

“You have to?” You asked, sounding far  
more desperate than you wanted. 

Arthur looked at the door, then to the clock. 

“I could stay a little longer.”

You got up on your knees and readjusted, having Arthur lay down so you could rest your head upon his chest. It was a tight fit, but the couch accommodated you both. You reached the remote and flicked on the television, enjoying this moment for all it was worth. 

You fell asleep to the soothing motion of Arthur’s hand circling your back.


	13. Intrusive Interest

Arthur was a patient man, petting your hair until you were deep in the throes of sleep before sliding away from you. 

He rested your head gently against one of the decorative pillow lining your couch. His hand went for the blanket that was folded on the spine of the furniture, but he stopped. He let his hand touch your thigh, gliding up until he reached the curve where your thigh and ass met. Your dress pulled up just enough to give him a view of your panties, a small cum stain peaking out from between your thighs. Arthur blushed as his hand rested upon your behind, giving a soft squeeze that dared to rouse you from slumber. He stood frozen as you wiggled, but returned to small circles when you proved to be resting. 

You had given him so much, so many first times, and kindness that was deep and true. He had never met anyone better, someone that gave him the time of day. Arthur swore that moment to protect you, even if it meant costing his life. He would die for you, he gave you his devotion. 

A silent vow, one he had already seen to, when he had followed you to work. 

He wondered how you would react if you found him out. He managed to avoid your eyes when you glanced in his direction, but he couldn’t help but wonder if you would be excited to see him or angry he had done it. 

Arthur wondered if he should just ask if you wanted the company. He was more than happy to pay the cost of the subway four times every day if it meant he could see you to and from work. 

He looked around. Arthur knew he shouldn’t snoop, but he couldn’t help how his legs began to walk around your apartment. There was a lack of family photos on the wall, but no dust sat upon your shelves. He ran his hands along the spines of books, hoping you would read them to him some day. 

Arthur found himself walking into your bedroom, into the en suite. He smelled your lotions one by one, his favourite being the pale pink that smelled of roses and oil. He put a little into his hands and rubbed it in; wanting to carry you with him. He observed how clean your tiles were, nothing like his bathroom at home. This was the bathroom of a lady, pristine and shining like the woman who owned it. Your bath mat, soft and purple, was clean. He tried to recall the feeling of his own, old, worn, and scratchy; but the way yours felt against his feet made him forget all that. 

He walked into your bedroom, and Arthur knew he shouldn’t go any further, but he did anyway. He opened your top drawer of the dresser, split into two sections of lacy underwear and socks. He pulled a red g-string from your drawer, holding it carefully between his thumb and finger; Arthur wished you would wear it for him someday. He placed them back as it was, then opened the next drawer, full to the brim with bras and lingerie of different colours. He blushed as he stumbled upon something more risqué, a black sheer body suit with nothing covering the crotch area. Arthur felt his cock stir within his pants at the mere thought of you crawling towards him wearing this and those heels you had pranced around in all night. 

Arthur closed the doors and continued his exploration. He touched your desk, lined with papers with rough doodles and notes, a couple of pens lying on the surface. His hand fell upon your smoke stash, opening it, and a wall smelling of skunk hit his nose. Arthur wasn’t naive, he knew what cannabis was, he had just never smoked it. He made a note to ask you later. 

He found your bed and sat upon it; you must have paid a fortune for it, Arthur figured, as the mattress caressed his shape when he laid upon the surface. He looked to the empty side of the queen bed, trying to envision you there with him, wearing nothing at all with the blankets pooling around your hips. He grabbed one of the pillows and held it to his chest, taking in the scent of your shampoo that had kissed the fabric. 

Arthur sat up and opened the drawer to the bedside table, covering his mouth as he stumbled upon something that no one was certainly supposed to find. 

A purple toy, in a phallic shape and a metallic blue bullet. He took the bullet within his slender hand and hit the button, then shut it off nearly as fast when it began to vibrate in his hand. Did you use these often? Would you let him watch you use them? How did someone even use them? Arthur placed the toy back in your drawer and shut it quietly, his mind thinking of all the ways you pleased yourself, hoping you moaned his name when you did. 

Finally, Arthur returned to the living room, laying the blanket on top of you, careful to make sure your toes were tucked in, cozy and warm. He placed a kiss to your forehead, then grabbed the note pad and paper you had resting beside the landline. Arthur did his best to make his chicken scratch legible, stopping to ponder how words were spelt, before ripping it off and placing it on the table in front of you, beside the long forgotten water bottle you had brought before blessing him with the best pleasure he had ever felt. 

Arthur whispered that he loved you, knowing his words would fall on sleeping ears, before leaving the apartment. He hesitated at the door, deciding to grab your keys and lock it from the outside to make sure you were safe. 

When you awoke, you felt for him, but snapped your eyes open when you didn’t feel his body under you. Rubbing your eyes you sat up, seeing a page upon your table. 

A little heart was drawn, with a comma beside it. 

‘Had to take care of mom. Come over tomarow when you ar awake. Luv, Arthur.’

You held the note close to your chest,  
moving it to your box where you kept all your sentimental items. You changed from your night before garb, throwing on some sweats and washing your face clear of smeared makeup. 

You noticed your keys were missing on the way out, having to settle for the spare hidden in your cupboard as you went off to Arthur’s.


	14. The Morning After

Arthur was quick to answer the door, figuring it was you knocking so early. He greeted you with a genuine smile, surprised when you stepped in and gave him a bear hug. You stood on your toes and kissed him, your hands holding his frail hips. 

“Good morning.” Arthur chuckled against your lips, a hand resting on your lower back. 

“Pretty good evening too.” You couldn’t help but think back to last night, feeling yourself grow hot and bothered all over again. It occurred to you that you never took care of your own pent up aggression before coming here, spelling bad news for his poor mother who was no where to be seen. 

Still, the risk of being walked in on made it that much hotter. 

You kissed him again, tongue running along his bottom lip. Finally Arthur had caught on, parting his lips so you could explore him. Coffee, cigarettes, a hint of tooth paste. To you, it was delicious. Your hands found themselves working up the back of his shirt, savouring every curve, every little divot where his bones sat directly under skin. Arthur moaned softly, letting you back him up against the wall. 

You weren’t sure what had come over you, but you could safely say you were addicted to this man. You drank in all of him, pressing your pelvis against his, that familiar stirring in his pants made heat drop to your core. Arthur’s hands came to your face, savouring the moment before gently pushing you away. 

“My mom is in the other room.” He was breathless, his face tinged that beautiful shade of embarrassment red. You were surprised he had any blood left in his head with the rate he was growing against you. 

“Better be quiet then, big guy.” 

Arthur accepted the challenge and kissed you with fervour. You felt accomplished, knowing he felt comfortable enough with you to even to do something so brazen. 

Arthur racked his brain, trying to remember what you had done last night and things he saw in the movies that played late at night. He rolled his hips to yours, pausing when he heard you gasp. You had that hungry look in your eyes that gave him the confirmation he needed, so he did it again. Arthur was determined to learn what made you cry with pleasure, wildly intimidated by your skills in the sexual department. 

Just as Arthur was about to turn you to pin you to the wall, he heard the bedroom door open. He turned his back, adjusting himself in his pants to spare his mother the sight, his heart swelling as you giggled with a soft hand covering your mouth. 

“Happy? Oh, this is the nice lady you were telling me about. From the other day.” Her voice seemed weak, as if she was miles away in her own mind. 

“Good morning, Penny.” You smiled your winning smile in her direction. She smiled back and shuffled off to the kitchen. 

“I just came out to get some water. I’ll stay out of your hair. It’s so rare that my little Happy has female guests... or any guests.”

“Well, I’d hope he doesn’t have any other females running about, handsome man he is.” You bantered. 

Arthur felt awkward, he didn’t feel like he belonged in this situation. You knocked your shoulder against his playfully, getting a grin from him. 

“Treat her better than you treated me last night.” With that, Penny retreated back into her room. 

“What happened last night?” You couldn’t help your curiosity. 

Arthur huffed, taking you over to the couch. He didn’t feel like explaining it, but he did. Arthur had mentioned that his mom had worked for the well esteemed Wayne family, but he went into more detail. Once you had the context, he slid over a couple crumpled pieces of paper on the table, leaving you to read. 

You skimmed the beautiful handwriting. Your son and I need your help, you would be so proud with the job I’ve done, a little sad but a good boy. Arthur was Thomas Wayne’s son?

“Jesus... this is heavy. Fuck, how do you feel?”

“Relieved? I never had a dad before. It’s nice to think that maybe one is out there.”

You put your arms around him, lifting your legs onto the couch to embrace Arthur fully, holding him close. He leaned into your touch, his own arm snaking around your back. 

“I just got mad that she didn’t tell me, I didn’t hurt her or anything, I just had an outburst.” Arthur was shameful, his head hanging low. You rubbed his back as a sigh escaped you. 

“That’s alright, Arthur. It’s understandable, she knew and didn’t tell you-“

“It still wasn’t right, I could’ve been more calm.”

“Hey, you know now, right? Think you’re going to try and contact him?”

Arthur nodded and you squeezed him. 

“Thank you, for listening.” 

“Always, Arthur.” 

With that, Arthur kissed you. You didn’t think you’d ever stop being shocked at how gentle he was. With every touch, he treated you like glass, one encrusted with diamonds and sapphires, something precious to be handled with care. You knew there was a dirty man inside of him, one that wanted to slam you onto a table and fuck you, but you’d coax it out in time. 

“I can’t stop thinking about last night.” Arthur turned sheepish, still holding you, but keeping his mind distant for the time being. 

“I can’t either. It was really hot.” 

“So you liked it?” 

“I loved it.”

I love you; Arthur kept that thought to himself. 

“I’ve never had someone be attracted to me before.”

Now that made you laugh, causing Arthur to look confused. 

“I doubt that, I’d bet money on it. You’re not an ugly guy, Arth, it’s just that no one ever bothered to tell you.” You kissed the tip of his downturned nose, that familiar shade of red coating his face once more. 

“I don’t think so...”

“Oh, I think so. But I’m attracted to you now, so I don’t mind if they keep their thoughts about you to themselves.” You let your hand glide up his thigh, Arthur grunting in response. 

You leaned back, pulling Arthur with you, his head coming to rest upon your chest. Arthur didn’t complain about his one arm that was pinned under your relaxing body, using his free hand to draw spirals and swirls on your exposed stomach. Ticklish as you were, you arched your back and let out a snorting chuckle; Arthur lifted his head and looked to you with gleaming eyes. 

“Don’t you dare.” You whispered. 

Arthur ignored you, running what little nails he had along your stomach. Your body bucked and a laugh escaped you, but his touch was only an experiment. Lifting your shirt, he tickled your sides, and you had to throw your arm over your mouth to muffle the shriek that’s poured from your throat. You tried to escape, but Arthur had maneuvered himself to pin you down, his vicious tickle attack unrelenting even as tears streamed down the sides of your face. 

You did the only thing your swimming brain could think of in that moment, pulling him by his collar and pushing your tongue into his mouth. It had worked, Arthur’s hands ceasing to caress your curves, a soft moan flying into your mouth. You returned to acting like horny teenagers, kissing everywhere your lips could reach. Breaking away for just a moment, you looked to the hallway, then back to Arthur. 

“What are the odds she’s gonna walk in on us?”

“Low, she likes a post breakfast nap.” 

That’s all you needed to hear, connecting your lips once more. You took his hand that rested upon your side and guided it up your shirt to your braless chest. Arthur gasped, stealing the air from your lungs, when he felt your bare breast with an erect nipple teasing his palm. Arthur sat up, taking the initiative to push his other hand up your body to grope your other breast. With an audible swallow, he squeezed, watching your face with intent. You moaned when he squeezed, didn’t react when he rubbed, and your eyes rolled back when he took two fingers of each hand and softly pinched your nipples. 

You had enough of the coy games, lifting your shirt so he could get a full view. 

Arthur lifted his hands from your flesh, drinking in the sight. He had seen tits, on television and in magazines, but this was his first real experience. You let him watch, lifting your own hands to tease your perked nipples, showing Arthur how you liked to be played with. He licked his lips as he enjoyed your little peep show. His erection returned with vigour and you lifted your hips to brush against the tent in his pants. 

Arthur felt more confident with each passing moment; you were doing this for him, putting on a show for him. How you acted, showed interest in him, made him grow a spine. He leaned down and placed a kiss between your breasts, then swivelled, taking your nipple within his mouth. That magical tongue of his worked wonders, making you writhe as he experimented the with flicking motions and soft grazing of his teeth. His other hand came to play with your other breast, not wanting it to feel excluded from the fun. You felt yourself grow wet and slick, becoming more desperate by the second. Mother be damned, you wanted him to fuck you until you couldn’t breathe. 

“You’re so good with your tongue, baby. When you licked me clean last night, I almost came.” You managed to get your words out between moans, whimpering as Arthur lifted to look at you. 

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you between my legs.”

“You tasted good.” Arthur returned his lips to your nipple. 

Alright, so he wasn’t the best at dirty talk. You couldn’t care less as he trailed kisses away from your breasts and down your torso. 

“We tasted good,” you corrected “, fuck it was so hot, you’re so special for cleaning me up with your mouth.” You grasped his fluffy, curly locks within your hands, guiding him downwards to the hem of your sweat pants. Arthur grew shy as he hands began to tug at the tie of your waistband, unable to loosen the knot on the drawstring with his fumbling fingers, kissing back up until he captured your lips. You let your own fingers work over the knot, material coming free as you peeled on the waist, giving enough elasticity for what you had in mind.

You took his hand and put it down your pants. Arthur’s eyes grew wide as he felt your lack of underwear, then wider and you placed his hand against your soaking core. 

“I’m not sure what to do.” Arthur admitted, keeping his eyes trained down, trying to get a peak of what you looked like down there. He felt a little hair, short and well kept, then an experimental finger pushed passed your labia and into your heat. His finger glided with ease, up to the little nub that had made you go wild last night and down to your entrance. 

“I c-can teach y-oh, god.” You muffled your voice in the crook of his neck, collecting your composure as to not rouse the woman in the other room. 

“Gentle pressure,” you guided his fingers to your clit “, small circles.” You got Arthur started, making sure he got the right pressure and pace. 

“What does this do?”

You fought to keep your head together. 

“Th-ats the-fuck-, clitoris. The external source of,” you gasped as Arthur hit just the right spot “, plea-SURE.”

“You could... like this?” Arthur was as cool as ever and you were burning up. He didn’t know how hot it was making you, trying to be straight as you answered his earnest questions. 

“Yes, I could orgasm like this.” You gasp and raised your hips, biting your lip to keep at a quiet decibel. 

You felt your pleasure growing, your body convulsing as he hit just the right spots. You still held his hand, allowing Arthur to move his talented fingers away from your clit and to your entrance. Arthur knew what to do here, placing one finger inside of you. You moaned into the side of his neck. 

“Another finger, please.” You begged in a hushed tone, and Arthur complied, a second finger slipping inside of you with ease. He pumped his hand, his fingers slightly curled, not knowing the effect he had on you. 

“Now, f-latten your p-palm, and use it to rub my clit.” 

Arthur was a good student, doing as you asked. His eyes trained on your face, watching how you dug your head into his pillow upon the couch. You brought your free hand in a fist to your mouth, biting to keep yourself hushed. 

“Put your free-fuuuck-hand on my mouth, don’t stop until I ta-ap you.” You demanded, rather than asked, but Arthur complied without complaint. His hand was light along your face, hesitant to harm you. 

You moved your hips against the knife of his hand, his long fingers wiggling deliciously inside of you. You looked up to Arthur, who was staring at you in that star struck way. He grew cheeky as you enjoyed yourself below him, slipping a third finger into your tight hole, Arthur growling as he thought of how you would feel around his most sensitive area. 

Then you felt it, a rush of pleasure came over you. You felt yourself drooling against his hand, your own hands holding him tight to your heat as you rode it out. You whimpered against his hand as it grew tighter along your mouth, successfully muffling your moans and groans as your juices pooled around his fingers.

When you couldn’t take any more stimulation, you pat him on the back, and he slowed his motions to a stop, keeping his fingers inside of you for a moment. 

“Was I okay?” He asked, and you nodded with a laugh, still trying to recover from your orgasm. 

As a response, you threw words to the wayside. You slipped his fingers from you and brought them to your mouth, bobbing and sucking as if it was his cock. Arthur’s mouth fell open as he watched and you felt him push against your leg, introducing you to his hard, large mass. 

“You earned yourself a treat,” you managed to speak with a shaking tone “, as long as you’re alright with it.” 

Vibrating hands fell to his elastic of his pajama pants, and he nodded, letting you slip them down and free his cock of its prison. 

Your eyes grew wide at the sight of him. Big and thick, wild hairs serving as a crown. You’d never had first hand experience with someone so well endowed. Saliva pooled in your mouth; you wanted to pin him down and suck him until he had no more cum to feed you. 

“Is it okay?” Arthur looked nervous and self conscious, a hand falling to his pajamas to pull them back up and hide his shame. 

“Arthur, you’re fucking... you’re huge.” You weren’t just gassing him up; he was blessed. You had to wonder if he would even fit inside of you, how would it feel to be stretched around him. But that was a problem for another day, instead settling for grasping him with a firm hand. 

Arthur gasped, his head falling to your shoulder. You hand began to work it’s magic, starting with slow teasing stroked until he cried in your ear. You picked up the pace, gasping as he began to thrust in your hand by pure instinct. 

It didn’t take long for him to spill himself into your stomach, his cum shooting so far as to cover your breasts in hot streams of white. You took a finger and wiped his cum off your stomach, lifting it to your mouth and making a show of savouring his taste. That alone was enough to make his dick, slowly going limp, come back to life in your hand. 

“You want another one?” You asked, but you weren’t really asking. You started your hand motions once more, Arthur’s teeth sinking into your neck to keep him from screaming. 

“I can’t wait to take you in my mouth,” you kissed his ear and savoured his whimpers “, you’re so fucking big, I may even choke on you. But I love that, I want you to pull my hair and fuck my mouth with your big cock.”

It didn’t take a genius to pick up that he loved being dirty talked. His hips worked with you, fucking your hand like it was the last time he ever would. 

“And you cum like a bull, I can’t wait to drink every drop you give me. And then I want you to cum all over my face and treat me like your filthy whore.”

That did it for Arthur. He came once more, sobbing against the flesh of your neck. Another hot load of cum found itself on your body, and you moaned as it hit your skin. Arthur collapsed on top of you, uncaring that his seed covered his chest. You held him close, just for a moment, making quick work of wiping each other clean and returning to a clothed state. 

Arthur was a cordial host yet again, bringing you coffee, surprisingly perfectly mixed to your taste. He curled back on top of you before you could question it, letting you flick through the channels until something caught your eye. Arthur didn’t care either way; he was busy looking at you.

Arthur wanted to ask if you would be his girlfriend, he wanted to ask to go over to your place so he could learn all the secrets your body had. Instead, he stayed quiet, laughing softly to himself every now and then, savouring what moments he had before you grew wise and ran away. He laid his hand upon your stomach and curled his legs until one was hooked around you, clinging to your form like a baby koala.

You were just happy you saved that clown on the subway, giving you this gem of a man in this barren mine of a city.


	15. The Start of the Shift

Arthur was laying with his back to your chest, you arms around him as he sat between your legs. 

“So, they come up on this castle and they do a dance, but then you get to finally see the doctor they’ve been alluding to all evening and he has these amazing glittery red lips and it’s just so much fun.” You explained the plot of some film, passing the time while combing through his hair with your fingers.

“We should watch it sometime.” He sighed, nuzzling his head into your chest. He had been so silent all morning, now creeping well into the afternoon, tangled around you the whole time.

“What’s on your mind?” You whispered. 

Arthur twiddled his thumbs, taking a deep breath into his lungs, using his cuddled position to avoid meeting your eyes. 

“They cut the funding... to the mental health facility.” Arthur sounded so meek, beaten down once more by life. 

“Fuck.” You couldn’t help but mutter it under your breath. 

“I can’t afford my- my mom’s medication without it,” then he paused “, or mine.”

You wrapped your arms tight around him, swaying him with the natural motions of your body. You wanted to apologize on behalf of the world for doing him a disservice. You wanted to offer him a marriage to let him in on your insurance. Instead, you kissed his temple and held him close. 

“I’m so sorry, Arthur.” You said against his scalp, taking in the scent of shampoo and cigarette smoke from his soft curls. 

His hands gripped at your arm, just tight enough to make you look. Arthur ran his hands from your wrist to the elbow, then back down again. 

“Are... you even real?” You just barely heard Arthur. 

“Am I real? I’d say so, what about you?” You were attempting to make a joke, but Arthur’s usual welcoming demeanour had shifted as he sat up, turning to you with his weight on his hands. 

“Sometimes, I’m not sure if I know. Like there are times I don’t know what’s even... real.” Arthur grabbed a cigarette and lit it up. 

“What do you mean?” You leaned forward and focused on his face. He raised a finger, pointing at your chest. 

“Good things only happen in my dreams. And you are so... so good.”

You felt a pain in your heart. Unable to comprehend the emotions he held, but able to understand the uncertainty. Arthur had been making so much effort to feel good, with therapies and medications, but he was so broken. What life had this man had? You felt drawn to him; you knew you could be there for him, help him, and offer your hands to pick up the pieces of a heart long broken. Not just his heart, but a spirit broken somewhere early on and forgotten about with the other knick knacks that needed repairs. 

Love was a foolish thought; if it ended today, it wouldn’t be anything more than a fling. Maternal was too much, as you felt a desire to teach this man how touch could be as inviting as punches could be hurtful. Infatuation seemed like a healthy middle ground. In truth, you knew deep down, there was a compulsive need to take care of someone else when you felt you couldn’t take care of yourself. 

And you never felt like you could take care of yourself. 

“I’m real, and so are you,” you grasped his face within your hands “, and I’ll find a way to get you what you need, don’t you worry about that.” You took the smoke from his fingers and took a deep haul. 

Arthur wanted to thank you, he wanted to cry, he wanted to declare his love for you. Instead, he laughed, and laughed some more as you wrapped your arms around him. It passed quick, Arthur focusing on the soft humming of a song pulled from your soul. His hands clasped your knee, bracing himself to the true reality he was in, thinking if he let go you would evaporate before his eyes. You laid your hand upon his and squeezed, emphasizing you lived within that same reality. 

The moment had passed, and you had swapped positions, letting him play the big spoon as you draped yourself along his form. 

“You hear about the protest? At the hall?” Arthur had soothed, making what you assumed was small talk about the current news. 

“Yeah, probably best to stay off the streets that night. It’ll probably be peaceful but some people may use it to get away with some shit.” You wanted to keep him safe. It was your main objective now.

Arthur hummed softly, and after a little more lounging, you decided to call it a night. He walked you to your apartment and left a fleeting kiss on your cheek. You assumed he headed back home. 

You had been wrong. Instead, Arthur made his way to Wayne Manor. He wanted to talk to his father, but first, he met his little brother. Arthur did his best to make the kid laugh, but he didn’t seem to be a very happy boy. Everyone laughed at the wand full of flowers! Arthur had to wonder if having money is what made him so sad, or perhaps he had a boring sense of humour. 

Bruce. Arthur. A and B, it just made so much sense to him. 

Arthur didn’t know what had came over him when he threw his hands through the bars and began to choke the man who refused him entry and spoke foul lies about his mom. The same thing when he had hunted those rich men, but he wouldn’t make that connection until he ran away, trying to forget how wonderful it had looked when the butler grew red in the face. 

You were lifted from relaxation much later, long after your evening shower, but just before you had settled in for the night. The landline rang, the shrill ting flying against the walls. Who could be calling? No one ever called you, except work which had been closed for an hour... and Arthur.

You picked up on the second ring. 

“Hell-“

“It’s Arthur. How fast can you get to the hospital?”

When you heard those words, you stood and jogged the short distance to the foyer, slipping on your running shoes. 

“Fifteen minutes, are you okay?” The phone rested between your ear and shoulder as you yanked on the sweater nearest to your hand. 

“My mom had a stroke. Meet me at the emergency doors.” 

“Fuck, I’ll be there, just sit tight.”

“Thank you.” He hung up without much more, and with your wallet and keys tucked within the pockets in your pyjamas, you ran out and hailed a cab as it was passing the front of your building.

As the hospital came into view, you saw two men standing in front of Arthur while he smoked. You tossed a driver fifteen dollars in bills, paying no mind if you gave him a decent tip or not; you could only think about Arthur. You legs carried you at a quickened pace down the side walk as you approached the trio. You overheard him speaking. 

“They said I wasn’t funny enough, can you imagine that? Now, if you don’t mind-“

“Arthur!” Your steps grew faster, and as he stood, you lunged your arms around his neck. You felt Arthur embrace you, his nose buried into your neck. 

“Who’s this?” The fatter one of the men asked. 

“I’m his girlfriend, the fuck are you?” You didn’t think much about your vernacular, Arthur and his well being was all you cared for at this moment, and these men didn’t seem to be here to make it easier. 

“Detectives, ma’am. We’re looking into the murders that took place, the Wayne Enterprise employees. Think you could tell us where your boyfriend was on-“

“He’s always with me. We’re practically inseparable.” The pigs didn’t need to know that, while your comment was true, that you only knew this man a handful of days, a week at most. 

You took Arthur’s hand and began to lead him towards the doors. 

“Now if you don’t mind, we have to go take care of my mother.” Arthur sounded confident, taking another drag off his dying cigarette. 

“Your boss also gave us one of your cards. This condition of yours, the laughing,” the thin one droned on as you both turned “, is it real? Or some sort of clown thing?”

“A clown thing?” You and Arthur spoke in unison. 

“It’s a condition, like a medical condition, what is wrong with you?” You knew better than to throw a punch in a cop’s direction, but you were fucked if you couldn’t tell him off. 

“Just... is it apart of your act?” He asked again, sceptical of the pair of you. 

“What do you think?” Arthur tossed his cigarette, and before you could register what was happening, he walked face first into the glass door. 

“Seriously, you show up at the hospital after his mom has a stroke? It seriously couldn’t have waited?” You seethed, turning away from Arthur who was waving a hand at the sensor.

“It’s exit only.” The thin one called, ignoring your presence. 

Arthur walked into the hospital as someone was on their way out, leaving you with the cops. 

They didn’t seem to pay you much mind. You were confused; you were the one that had made a scene with countless witnesses, you had murderer practically stamped on your forehead. Why hadn’t they sought you out first?

“How long have you known Mister Fleck?” The fat one asked. 

“Long enough to know he wouldn’t hurt a fly, let alone three grown men.”

“Must’ve known him long enough to know he had a gun.”

Now that made you freeze. 

“Arthur doesn’t own a gun.”

The cops looked at one another, one smirking and the other with his eyebrow raised. 

“Guess she doesn’t know how he got fired.” 

“Ignorance is bliss, that’s for sure.” They conversed as if you weren’t there. 

“You don’t you pigs find a donut shop to raid and leave Arthur alone?” You spat, but the men didn’t mind. It had been the seventh iteration of that joke they heard today. 

The fat one held out his hand, a white card between his fingers. 

“Well, if any information comes to light, here’s my number.” 

You snatched it from his hand and walked away. 

“He brought the gun to a children’s hospital. Can you be sure of who you’re dating?” One of them called, but you didn’t look back. 

Lies. They had to be lies. Arthur with a gun? Arthur with a gun, bringing it to a hospital full of kids? No way, absolutely no god damn way. They were just trying to make you turn on him; a mentally ill man made for an easy target in the eyes of the law, a scapegoat everyone could buy into. 

You couldn’t even imagine what he would look like with a gun in his hand. A gun would weigh down his slender arms, he wouldn’t even be able to handle the recoil of one bullet, let alone emptying the chamber into three men. 

The newspaper stand just before the gift shop caught your eyes. You stood and examined the clown rendering, still on the front page after all this time; the one with a smiling mouth and sharp fangs. You closed your eyes, trying to remember that night around a week ago. His painted smile was more curved, lined with black. Sure, the green hair they got down to the letter, but this drawing bore no resemblance to your Arthur. 

But... what if he did it? You tried to put yourself in that train of thought; would you be disgusted? Would you even care? In some of the moments you shared with Arthur, he became a confident man, but confidence and homicidal were so different. Even if he did...

Then, you approached the room with Penny’s name on the outside, written on a white board. You saw Arthur, who had tucked his chair close to the bed, his two hands clasping his mom’s as he looked longingly at her face. 

No, this man was no murderer. He couldn’t be. 

There was just no way.


	16. Sleep Over

You couldn’t help but feel awkward in your pale purple pyjama pants and an old sweater wrapped over your shoulders, but you pushed down those sensations to comfort Arthur. His eyes wouldn’t leave his mom, who rested peacefully on the hospital bed, blissfully unaware of the pair of you watching her diligently. 

Through the silence, your voice dared to emerge. 

“Those cops. They seemed to be pretty sure you did something.” You whispered, your hand clasping his own. 

“I haven’t.”

“I know, I don’t think you did.” You pet his hair, scratching his scalp with a tender touch. You really didn’t think he did anything; the Arthur you had come to know was so tender, the cops were surely blowing smoke.

Arthur turned to you, his face even more sad than usual. 

“I shouldn’t have called you, this doesn’t have anything to do with you,” then his voice grew some emphasis “, I’m just dragging you down with me.”

“I was already pretty low, Arthur. You couldn’t drag me down if you tried.”

There was something that need not be spoken between him and you. An understanding that, in your own ways, you’ve been damaged. You look back on your life with a bittersweet taste, remembers the downs better than the ups. Isn’t that how it went? The bad things always seemed so much worse than the good ever could. 

For you, Arthur was the embodiment of good. Since he found his way into your life by the most marvellous of chances, all your energy was focused on him, unable to reroute to the outlets that caused you internalized screeching and self deprecation. He had saved you from a life of monotonous action and boring events, from nights spent alone in the dark. 

You rubbed Arthur’s back as he hunched over, watching his mom for signs of life. Leaning over, you placed a kiss on his cheek. At that moment, Murray Franklin popped on the television, making Arthur light up all sorts of happy. You leaned back, watching him watch the television. 

“Check out this joker.” Murray said. 

The sound of a familiar laugh pulled you from watching Arthur’s face. When you turned, the television greeted you with an image of Arthur, during his stand up routine. 

He stood, walking to place himself right in front of the television. He laughed at the joy of being on his favourite television show, watching himself deliver the joke about school and being a comedian. Then his expression fell, shattering upon the tile when Murray made it clear why he was showing his clip. 

He was making fun of him. 

You covered your open mouth, standing slowly, approaching Arthur with great caution. 

“Let’s see another one, I love this guy.”

You came beside Arthur and looked up at him. His miserable expression had returned, his hands were balled into tight fists at his sides. It wasn’t until Arthur saw himself on television that he realized no one was laughing, not like he imagined it. It wasn’t until they switched back to the old man, with a look on his face, that he heard the roaring laughter he had imagined. 

“Oh, Arthur...” It came out wrapped in an exhale. You placed a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged away, sick of being hurt. 

So, there you stood. You waited patiently as Arthur rubbed at his face and let out a chuckle. It wasn’t his real laugh, it was the one he used to cope. His hand found yours and clasped tight; now that he had processed the pain, he never wanted to let you go. Arthur tugged you close, your chest flat to his, his arms daring to squeeze you so tight you could pop into nothing like a balloon. 

“Visiting hours are over.” He grabbed his sweater from the hook, letting go of your hand for just a moment, before reclaiming it and walking out of the hospital with you in tow. 

“Stay with me tonight.” It wasn’t a request, it was a demand, from Arthur himself in a voice so low and broken. 

You didn’t think twice. You had to consider if you were going mad, investing so much of yourself in a fall fling, but when had you ever followed the usual routine that society had laid out for you? You knew you were tossing reason to the wayside. 

Fuck it, Arthur was apart of your world now. Much like Arthur wouldn’t let go of you hand, you decided that you wouldn’t let go of his heart. 

“My place or yours?” You asked, the weight of the evening beginning to sink into your brain. 

“Yours.” He didn’t think about it; he didn’t want to be surrounded with thoughts of his mom. 

You let him throw some stuff into a bag then took him over to your apartment. Despite being here a few times, one of which being a very close encounter, he still waited in the foyer for permission to go further. 

“Why don’t you go get changed, then we can relax.”

You had long accepted you’d be calling in sick to work tomorrow, picking up the handheld set and leaving a message to the human resource rep with a request to use some of your personal days. It didn’t matter too much, working in the posh end of town allotted you certain amenities unwelcome to those who worked in the end of town you lived in. You couldn’t bare to leave this man, shoulders hunched as he walked into your bedroom, alone right now. He needed support. Did he even know what support felt like?

“I can run a bath, if you wanted.” You offered, leaning on your bedroom doorway as Arthur took a seat upon your bed. 

“No,” his eyes kept to the ground “, thank you.”

A hand held over your heart, you took a few steps to him. 

“She’ll be alright, Arth. I know she will.”

You did not know, but that’s what people said when someone they loved got hurt. 

“You told the detectives you were my girlfriend.” Arthur mumbled, trying to keep his mind away from thoughts of his mom never coming home.

“I did.”

“I’ve never had one before. What do girlfriends do?” Another first you had given him. 

“Girlfriends, or partners of any sort really, will support you. Be there for you. Help you, hold you, listen to you, laugh and cry with you. They... understand.”

Arthur looked up to you then, his eyes glassy with tears that were waiting for the perfect moment to strike. 

“I really need that right now.” 

It must have taken a lot for him to be so open, and you knew that, so you closed the distance and sat down beside him. 

“And if you’re going to be my boyfriend, you just gotta let me know what’s going on up here.” You tapped his head, then slung your arm around him, feeling his weight shift to rest against you. 

Arthur had accepted you weren’t a delusion of his mind and that you were rooted in the reality that had fed him nothing but shit. Now, he worried you would leave. If you learned about how he had followed you to work, crept around your apartment, killed three men, touched himself to thoughts of you... surely you would run and never look back. Arthur didn’t know if he could be a good boyfriend, to reciprocate all the good you had gifted him with your big heart and soul. You had let him in, let him be himself, and you had let him touch you in intimate ways. He didn’t deserve you, he couldn’t afford you, and you were so far above him it made his head spin. 

“I did something bad.” Arthur whispered, the tears finally finding their way down his gaunt cheeks. 

“You can tell me.”

“I,” killed three men, stalked you “, walked around your apartment... after you went to sleep after we...”

“Oh... oh, well did you take anything?”

“No,” he shook his head and stared into your eyes “, but I found your underwear and cannabis and your... uhm-“ His head turned to look at your bedside table, and when he turned back to you, it was your face that had gone beet red. Still, you laughed, kissing away the confused look Arthur wore. 

“Ah. Well, that doesn’t bother me, Arthur. I thought you were going to tell me you killed someone.” You had to laugh, and Arthur laughed with you, scratching his face to hide the expression on his features. 

“I’m sorry, I embarrassed you.” His hand caressed your hot cheek, the ghost of a real smile tugging at the corners of his lips, but you laughed him off while shaking your head. 

“I’m used to living alone, I never had to find a good hiding spot. For the weed or the sex toys.” 

Even though it wasn’t the admission he was planning to say, he felt lighter none the less. Soothed by your response, so cool and unbothered, Arthur felt better. You could still leave him behind, but it certainly wouldn’t be tonight.

“Alright boyfriend,” he melted as you spoke “, get changed and we can put on a movie. Something funny?”

“I’d like that.”

Then you took off your sweater and you stood in nothing but a tank top. Your arms were purposely exposed to someone else since you had made the attempt on your life, and for once, you didn’t feel ashamed. You felt Arthur’s eyes on them, but he didn’t say anything, knowing it was his way of respecting your boundaries. Arthur had power over you; it had drawn you in, made you comfortable. 

You left him to change, running a finger along your small collection of VHS tapes, stopping when you felt Arthur towering behind you. His finger came around and pointed at one of the tapes, taking the stress of selection off you. You popped it in and settled onto the couch, draping a blanket over the two of you while smoking respective cigarettes and sharing muffled commentary about whatever film he had chosen. 

Arthur was so still and relaxed, you never would’ve thought his mind was brewing a silent storm. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he spent a night without his mom in the next room. He missed her, he wanted her to be better, but Arthur savoured this moment with you. He had to wonder if this is what being married was like, or if this was just what being married to you felt like. The way you mindlessly maneuvered him so he was resting his head upon your chest, how your fingers knew exactly how he liked his hair to be played with. You made Arthur’s heart flutter in ways he didn’t know it could. 

He would never let you leave him. He couldn’t, not now that he’s experienced how you loved him. Arthur knew he would just die without you, he couldn’t go back, knowing what heaven was like. The way you kissed him made him relax; you weren’t planning on leaving, not with the way your tongue danced along his lips. 

Is this what being alive felt like? The last time Arthur had felt this way, he had taken the lives of three men that treated him like shit. He wanted to chase that feeling, in whatever form he could get. So, he kissed you back, the memories of guilty blood flowing onto the street making him excited. Flashes of how the gun popped, the smell of the smoke, it made Arthur grow hard against you. He positioned himself on top of you, pressing his eager length to your core, and he could have cum right there at the little moan you gave him. 

You didn’t think much of it. When something traumatic happens, people usually seek something that will make them feel good, and Arthur had experienced enough trauma for a life time. 

“Please, touch me. Please.” Arthur begged against your lips. Your hand found its way down, slipping into his thin pyjamas, revealing he preferred to go commando at night. 

The hefty amount of precum served as lubrication as you pumped his length, cooing encouragement into his ear. You latched onto his neck, nibbling and sucking, until a dark spot formed and you were satisfied. Arthur moaned the whole time, unsure of what you were doing, but he never wanted you to stop. 

“Again.” He growled at you, and you switched to the other side of his neck, leaving a deep hickey just below his ear. 

His hips did the work, you merely clasped a soft yet firm grip around his cock while he fucked your hand for dear life. Then, you got a wicked idea, relishing the sad groan Arthur let out when you pulled your hand free from him. 

With a push, he was back against the arm of the couch. You got on your hands and knees and crawled over, placing an open mouth kiss to the base of his cock through his pyjamas. The sound he made was exquisite, so you trailed your mouth up, teasing with hot breath until even you couldn’t take it anymore. You pulled down the waistband of his pants and wasted no time, taking his length within your mouth. 

Arthur’s hands gripped at the couch, his knuckles as white as what he was seeing behind his eyes. He couldn’t help the rolling waves of sobbing moans and whimpers as your mouth sucked and licked and pleased him with technique he never even heard of. When you looked up at him, bobbing down on his cock until he was pressed against your throat, Arthur’s face was coated in sweat and tears. His legs clasped around your torso and you devoured him. Your hands came up to his hands, and he clasped them within his own, his grip tight and unforgiving. 

You moved his hands to settle on your head, tangling his fingers within your hair. He got the idea, applying the faintest amount of pressure as you took all of him into your throat once more, your own eyes watering at his sheer size. Your hand, now free, came to play with his balls in a soft massage, but that didn’t last very long. 

“Fuck, I can’t- I’m going-uhhh, fuck, fuck-“ Arthur couldn’t get two words straight, but you knew he was on the brink. You kept up the motions of your hand, throwing in a deep moan as you had all of him within your mouth. His heels dug into the couch and he let out a strangled cry. 

You pulled your head back, keeping the tip of his cock against your tongue as he unloaded inside of you. There was so much cum, it dribbled from the corner of your mouth, but your finger came up and swept it back within your mouth; Arthur groaned and his eyes rolled back, trying to even put his breathing as you swallowed his load. 

“Feel better?” You rubbed his chest, smiling as he struggled to find the ability to speak. Arthur nodded, a soft giggle coming from his throat. You grabbed the pack of smokes and slipped out two, sharing one final nicotine hit for the evening. 

“You must be ready for bed.” You sighed, kissing his forehead before putting out the burned down cigarette. You shut off the television and made your way to the bedroom, looking back as Arthur stayed on the couch. 

“What’s up?”

“I can sleep here.” He patted the couch, grabbed the blanket to toss over his legs. 

“Arthur, I literally just had your semen in my mouth, I’m pretty sure we can sleep in the same bed.”

He looked at you for a beat, but decided he couldn’t argue with that logic. He was careful as he followed you into the bedroom, waiting while you had settled into your side of the bed, and until you had tossed the blankets to his side over as an invitation. 

It had been so long since he had slept in a bed. The mattress invited him, wrapping itself around his form. It was even better than laying on top of the duvet, as he did just a little while ago. Arthur ran his hands along the blankets and pulled them up to his chin. Arthur watched you stretch and lay down, turning your back to him as you settled into the comforts of your bed. He scooted a little closer, until he could feel the heat radiating from your body. Another reminder you were very real and that you had taken him in. 

Arthur had seen it in romance movies, so he tossed an arm over and spooned you. He grinned as you wiggled closer, placing your hand on top of his. 

For the first time in a long time, he was asleep within minutes.


	17. Domestic Life Lite

Arthur stretched upon the mattress, a hand covering his yawning mouth as his aching bones popped. His arm stretched out, a cool empty spot is what he felt beside him. 

Arthur shot up, looking around to get a handle on his surroundings. He wasn’t at home, his mother’s decor didn’t greet his eyes. On the desk was your smoke case, your sweater hung over the back of your chair. He looked to the bathroom, seeing your line of lotions and your tooth brush. 

His racing heart began to calm. Arthur grabbed your pillow and held it close, taking in your scent, reminding himself that he was here with you. He made quick work, using the bathroom and washing his hands and brushing his teeth, before seeking you out. It didn’t take him long, as soon as he cracked the door, he saw you moving about the kitchen. How had he not noticed the smell of cooking bacon? 

Arthur felt his chest grow warm when he saw you smile. 

“Mornin’, you sleep well?” You asked, turning your head back to the sizzling bacon.

Arthur didn’t tell you that he had the best sleep that he could ever remember, he simply told you he slept well, and accepted the kiss you placed on the tip of his nose. He loved it when you did that. You pulled out a chair for him at the table, and he sat down, accepting the pack of cigarettes you tossed him from your station at the stove. 

He took in a deep hit, relaxing as the nicotine entered his lungs. 

“Just a few minutes and breakfast will be ready!” You voice hit his ears like a choir of singing angels. 

Arthur cocked his head and checked out your long legs, able to pull the memory of you in that little black dress and imagined how you looked under the satin pyjamas. He could see the scars on your wrist, he didn’t know why you hid them; he found a strange beauty within them, a strength that screamed you had walked to the edge of hell and still came back. 

You turned your head, feeling eyes on you, winking at Arthur when he let off a lopsided grin. 

You placed a plate in front of him, a small serving of bacon and scrambled eggs with one piece of toast cut diagonally. A smaller portion than yours, but Arthur appreciated it, you were respectful of his avoidance of food. Arthur took a few bites of each item on his plate, far more interested in watching you eat. 

Was this domestication? Back at Ha Has, he heard the men talk about their ‘ball and chain’. Arthur never understood that, why would you want to be with someone if they made you feel imprisoned? He didn’t feel like that at all, in fact, he felt more like himself than he ever had before. Free to be the most authentic version of himself, the one that was caged inside clawing to get out. 

“You want to go see your mom today?” You asked before putting a piece of egg in your mouth. 

“For a bit.” Arthur nodded, taking a bite of his toast. 

“I’m gonna rent a car today,” you thought out loud “, do some grocery shopping. I can drive you and pick you up.”

Arthur kept it to himself that he was surprised you could afford it. He had to remember there were other jobs out there, ones that paid well, ones he wasn’t qualified for. 

“I can come help you, if you’d stay at the hospital with me.” His usual grocery trips insisted of getting what he could carry up those long steps home. 

“I’d like that.” You pat his free hand, noting now how he ate with the fork perched in his left hand. You’ve seen him use both, impressed by his ambidextrous skill. 

Arthur finished up well before you, simply satisfied that he managed to take a few bites of each item on the plate. It was the most you’d seen him eat. He stood, immediately putting the dishes beside the sink as he filled it with hot water. 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that-“

“Please,” he turned to you “, you cooked. It’s only polite.” 

You were impressed, not that you should be. The last man you were with didn’t care to do the cleaning, or the cooking, or laundry for that matter. It was refreshing to have someone want to share the burden. Another win for Arthur, another reason you would keep him around, just another reason to fall in love with him. 

“Thank you, really. Just leave whatever you don’t want to do, I’ll do it after I hop out of the shower.” 

Arthur watched you then, following your form all the way until you turned the corner into your bathroom. He heard the shower turn on as he scrubbed the pan clear of grease. His mind wandered to thoughts of you, naked and slick with soap. He wondered how you would react if he slipped in with you, wash your hair, and clean every inch of you from head to toe. Arthur imagined you would greet him with a kiss, and your hand would fall to his most sensitive part, bringing it to life with your skillful touch. A hand came and caressed where you had left him marked, using a clean spoon to look at what you had done. 

Arthur remembered how you pleasured him last night, how your tongue played him like a harp. He felt a pang of guilt when he realized he hadn’t reciprocated, hoping you didn’t think him rude for being so one track minded. No, you couldn’t be mad at him, you had made him such a delicious breakfast. But still, that thought played on his mind, worried that you thought that he thought you were just a play thing; despite being the initiator to all your encounters together. 

When he saw you emerge from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel with half dried hair, he made a move. Deep down, he knew it wasn’t Arthur that carried him to your doorway, but someone else. He embraced it; it made him feel confident and strong. Perhaps you were a greater influence than he initially thought. 

“Hey,” You grinned as you saw his eyes devour you “, like what ya see?” 

It was meant as a joke, but Arthur nodded, deathly serious. Flashes of you, moaning and wiggling under the touch of his tongue, inspired him to move. With shaking fingers, still unsure of where this alternate version of himself was taking him, he pulled at the tucked corner of the towel. It fell into a puddle around your feet and you gasped, your lips pulled to Arthur’s in a surprisingly smooth motion. He swung you around with ease, lowering you onto your bed with gentle hands. 

“I should thank you,” he kissed your neck “, for last night.” He kissed your collar bone. 

“I don’t expect anything.” You breathed heavily, feeling a rush of moisture pool between your legs. 

“Oh? Well,” he sucked on one nipple for just a moment “, feel free to stop me any time.”

This was the other side of Arthur you had only seen in brief flashes, the one that had a little game, the one that knew how to enamour a woman. This time, it wasn’t just a passing moment. When Arthur ran the tip of his tongue from your belly button to the tufts of hair below, you knew he was here until he got whatever he wanted from you, and he wanted to hear you scream. 

“Arthur!” You couldn’t help it, he had wrapped his lips around your clit and began to suck. He remembered your teachings, finding the sweet spot of speed and pressure as he flicked his tongue over the sensitive bud. 

Arthur moaned when he tasted your juices, his hands resting on your thighs and lifted until your knees were bent over his long and slender arms. 

“Right there... oh, that’s good. You’re so good.” You sputtered out, your hands finding his hair and putting him in a position that left you shaking. You were still amazed and confused as to where he learned how to move his tongue like that; thoughts of Arthur licking his cum from you making you wet all over again. His hands ran up your stomach, holding your twitching body down as he feasted on you. 

You took one of his hands and rested it upon your breast, letting his fingers find your erect nipple to pinch and flick. You ground yourself against his face, thinking you felt as good as you ever could, until his hand left your nipple and two fingers plunged inside of you. It made you call out his name and grip his hair tighter. 

“Curl your fingers just a li-OH, yeah like that! Fuck, don’t stop that.” You were barely able to keep your breath as he lifted you to new heights. When his green eyes looked to your face, and your gazed met, you lost your composure. 

His fingers felt a rush of juices, your head thrown back as you moaned and cried. He took a mental picture, never wanting to forget how he was able to make you feel. When you thought it was over, he kept going, sucked and licking and finger fucking you until you came again and turned into mush under his touch. 

“Fuck, I can’t... can’t take any more, please.” You fell limp as Arthur slowed, pulling his fingers from you. You grabbed his hand and sucked his fingers clean; it was the least you could do for such a performance. 

Your legs felt like jelly, rolling over to rest your head upon Arthur’s chest when he collapsed beside you, a smug smirk on his face. 

“Ser-seriously, where the fuck did you learn that?” You laughed as you spoke, trying to bring your mind back down to earth. 

With that, Arthur was back, watching you fan yourself, overheating despite being naked. His hands explored you innocently, a wild juxtaposition to how he was a moment ago. He dragged a finger down your side and up the curve of your spine. 

“You should get dressed.” Arthur kissed your forehead. 

“I’m pretty sure I can’t walk!” You sighed, leaving your body exposed to him as he stood. Arthur laughed his true laugh, pulling a pair of jeans and a sweater from your closet and tossing it on the bed. He watched you dress, a sweet look in his eyes as he took in how your curves fell and how you moved about with grace. 

Arthur was ever so in love with you. He wondered if you could felt it when he kissed you, a lone hand resting on the small of your back before leaving the apartment with your hand within his. 

You enjoyed the afterglow of being ravished all the way to the car rental building, just a handful of blocks away from where you lived. Arthur took every opportunity to wrap his arms around you and kiss your face, wanting the world to know you were his. You didn’t take notice of the men that looked your way, but Arthur did. You would feel his hand clasp a little tighter, feel his shoulder glue to yours for a few steps. 

You got the keys to a black little car, enough to get you from point A to B for the day. Arthur took his place in the passenger seat, playing out a drawn out scenario as he watched the city pass by the window, of being married and spending the day with his wife. A wife that loved him through thick and thin.


End file.
